


feeling alright, mr. Lee?

by xumyuho



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood, Car Sex, Closeted Character, Experimentation, Hitchhiking, Implied Violence, Instructive sex, Multi, On the Run, Oral Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xumyuho/pseuds/xumyuho
Summary: Mingyu feels like something is wedging itself into the spaces of his ribcage by force, melting into the bone, all the way down to the marrow, because Jihoon looks like he’s the oldest man on Earth, and Mingyu finds it so lovable.(A story about a hitchhiker and a driver. And pretty much anything that could possibly happen in a car on a three day trip from Busan to Suwon.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> here i am.... with...a repost....   
>  this was originally part of a collab and had a second part in the works,    
>  but will be (most likely) left as a oneshot since the project was called off,    
>  and I want to work on other things, et cetera et cetera. 
> 
>  
> 
> BUT I feel like this is the best thing I have yet written,  
>  and the story I am the most attached to, so I wanted to publish it on it's own.   
>  maybe it'll still have readers and people that love it? one likes to believe   
>  There are implications of violence, mentions of blood and a very big misunderstanding about prostitution included in this piece but NOTHING MAJOR if that brings any comfort.   
>  thats all ～♡ 

  
  
“Name?”

Sure. Mingyu has dreamt of being double teamed by two guys in police uniforms, but this really isn’t living up to his expectations. He’s seated in the back of a patrol car, face and hands aching from being forced down to the ground, and if the younger officer of the patrol team damaged his much-vaunted face, Mingyu is unafraid to sue him as soon as they reach civilization. Right now the guy is holding a fucking flashlight to his face, creating his makeshift interrogation room.

“Song Joongki. Sir,” Mingyu says with a demure smile, trying to hold in a violent burst of laughter. The younger officer has a nametag on his clean, picture-perfect uniform. He’s rigid and very annoying. His name is Lee, and he’s writing something down furiously on a tacky notepad whenever he gets an answer. Mingyu glances over at the elder officer, and almost laughs out loud, because his name is Lee, too. Incredible.

Junior Lee is in his early thirties, doing his best to be as clean as possible, and plays by the book. That’s at least Mingyu’s deduction, judging from the way Junior Lee glared at him when he had his feet on the backseat, dirt of his shoes getting everywhere. Mingyu hopes he doesn’t have a wife. He’d feel bad for her.

Senior Lee is different. He’s a man who’s at least in his mid-fifties, with neatly cut hair and a neatly shaven face, broad shoulders and a deep voice. He’s neat. He’s calm and collected, and despite his age and the soft roundness around his belly, he almost caught up to Minghao while he was running away from them with all of his might. Mingyu thinks he’s really hot for a geezer.

“Age?”

Mingyu thinks on it for a second, wondering if he could pass for an actor in his thirties, but decides not to push his luck.

“18, sir.” It’s not too far away from the reality of 21 years he has lived. Junior Lee marks that down, turning off the flashlight. Senior looks suspicious, and Mingyu smiles at him with all the kindness and loyalty of a trustworthy Finnish Spitz.

“You don’t seem that young, son.”

“I’m just very tall, sir. Do you suppose I don’t look intelligent enough to count my own age?” Junior almost flips, hands digging into his notepad from the way Mingyu talks to his superior. But Senior smiles, genuinely amused and raises his bushy eyebrows that have grey hairs here and there.

“Not at all. ”

It takes a long while for them to get all the info they need, with Mingyu stalling and trying to be as cutesy as he can without being too apparent.  The sky turns its hue from peach to purple to almost complete nightfall. Senior finds it charming, but by the end of all the questions Junior looks like he’s about to punch Mingyu in the face. Repeatedly.

“In your belongings there was a wallet without identification, a cellphone with a charger, two pieces of clothing—” Senior Lee falls silent, purses his lips and looks at Junior Lee’s notepad, twirling the pencil between his rough textured fingertips. “What does a boy your age do so far away from home? You are carrying nothing illegal, so why did you and your friend run?”

“Is your friend guilty of a crime?” Junior Lee joins in, his tone strict and his dark, wiry brows tying themselves together. It looks like caterpillars courting, and Mingyu almost giggles under his breath. “Where is he from? Where did he go? Why?”

“I can’t know that, sir.” Mingyu starts with a pleading voice that is gingerly bordering on whiny. It takes a great deal of patience to keep up the act, since mostly Mingyu just wants to kick the car door and holler out in his frustrated state how he doesn’t know. He has no idea why Minghao is doing the things he does or where he is going or why he had to leave. And it pisses him off, too. “I can’t make excuses for my friend, or see into his head.”

“You haven’t answered any of the inquiries we just presented,” they both say. Mingyu stares at them blankly, and crosses his arms and falls to the backseat, silent. He refuses to speak for almost five minutes, so the old Lee starts the car and drives away.

They go on like that for almost an hour, until a chance falls upon him. Mingyu looks at a sign they’re nearing, then points at it through the netting of the backseat. It promises a service area with a cafe, a convenience store and public bathrooms.

“Mr. Officer, sir. Could I possibly use the restroom, if you do not mind?” Mingyu doesn’t look out for his tone, and accepts the slight disapproval in the younger officer’s face because he speaks too much like a bargaining child and looks too much like he’s a grown man. He seems to have a thing for Senior Lee, respect demanding respect, that sort of shit. Mingyu can work with it, and answers with a wide closemouthed smile, all in good nature. He’s a good boy.

The elder officer thinks on it, but then all tension and strain dissolves from his face and he relaxes his forehead, wrinkles settling above his brow. He looks like an old hound, it’s very endearing, and Mingyu bites his lower lip because of it. “That would be fine.”

Mingyu exits the car when they let him, but when he tries to bring his backpack with him, they tell him not to. Mingyu nods slowly and leans back into the car to settle the bag in, slipping out his phone and hiding it into his sleeve, shoving his charger down his pants, tucking away his wallet to the breast pocket of his coat.

The younger policeman is too busy yelling at the elder officer Senior Lee about being too lax and not keeping an eye on Mingyu to, ironically, keep an eye on Mingyu.

While maintaining his good natured smile, he enters the doors of the station and heads over to the bathrooms. Junior Lee wants to follow him, but Senior Lee tells him off for it. “You’re so rigid, good man. It doesn’t raise your paycheck to go and see how many drops he misses while pissing,” he says, and Mingyu giggles silently before closing the door. He really likes Senior Lee. Too bad he doesn’t know where he’s stationed. Visiting him sometime could be nice.

One by one Mingyu checks all four stalls, strolling forward with lazy feet. His heart is racing a bit, hands getting sweaty, but in the back of the second to last stall, by the ceiling, there is a window. Mingyu slips in and closes the door.

The window opens with only a slight racket and then a long, suffering squeak. Flaky paint falls off of the frame and a spiderweb gets stretched until it breaks and falls out, making Mingyu grimace and feel itchy. If a spider gets on him he’s done, he will remove all clothes and walk back to the cops willingly.

He can’t stop worrying that his ass could get stuck in the frame and he would be left struggling until Lee & Lee Co. come looking for him. Mingyu’s shoulders give him trouble fitting through, then the sleeves of his light coat get stuck and he has to yank at them, but he does get out. His whole body slips through and falls outside, with a thunk he lands on a garbage tank, then with another thunk he rolls off and lands on the ground.  Like James Bond. Or Song Joongki.

Mingyu gets to his feet grinning with pride and satisfaction and dusts off his clothes, then gets going. He chooses to walk down the smaller road that will probably connect to another motorway at some point. Maybe. Hopefully. While at it he pulls the charger out of his pants to make moving more comfortable.

Checking his phone makes him snort so hard the fresh night air turns white around his nostrils. His inbox is unreal.

[Just now] XMH: are you okay?? is the content of most of the messages.

[Just now] XMH: I’m sos sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck.  Please text me when you can? Im so sorry mngyu. MIngyu. Mingyu?

Minghao’s typing is all over the place, like he’s either already drunk from drowning his sorrows with alcohol in the middle of nowhere or he’s super stressed. Maybe even crying.

“Aww.” Mingyu replies with a roll of his shoulders. its all cool. take a knee, breathe. where are you?????? It takes exactly five seconds until his phone starts ringing.

“Kim Mingyu speaking, who might this be?” he says amidst a yawn as he answers.

“You. Of course it’s me you fucking dickweed—wait, they let you use your phone? What happened? Are you fine?” Minghao’s voice comes through first as an angry shriek, and on the background Mingyu can hear a hum, a thrum of an engine. It makes him frown and stop walking.

“The cops? I ditched them. I’m walking…” Mingyu looks around, and sees no signs anywhere. It’s just a road. With metal railings and woods on the other side. It’s dark, a brisk and cold night in June. None of it is too unique. With a small huff he shrugs. “Somewhere. Maybe someone will pick me up? I’ll try to hitchhike back to Anyang, or… not. Are you in a car?”

A small silence. “Yeah I… someone picked me up.” From the phone sounds Minghao huffing silently. “He… is… uh.” He thinks for the longest moment, but doesn’t find anything to say. Mingyu bursts into violent laughter; he can already figure out what kind of a person it is. “But I don’t think he’s a serial killer.”

“You don’t think I could be a serial killer?”  The indescribable someone speaks in the background, surprising Mingyu with how his voice is bright, masculine.

“Why would you want to seem like a serial killer?”

The guy sounds… stable enough. Minghao seems comfortable, that’s all that really matters. That maybe he won’t disappear from the face of this earth while riding with this dweeb, who might or might not want to be a slasher. “I won’t keep you guys, it sounds like a fun time. But keep texting me, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.” Another silence stretches, and Mingyu can clearly hear Minghao’s brain whining in low frequencies through the line. “I’m really sorry, for getting you into this.”

“Don’t be,” Mingyu argues lightly, burying his free hand to his pocket and bouncing a bit when he walks. “Thanks to you I met the man of my dreams,” he sounds with a dreamy sigh and an exaggerated face though no one is to see it.

Minghao laughs, with the first peal exploding like it was stolen out of his mouth. Like he hasn’t laughed in a forever. Maybe dust came out of his mouth too when he did. “What are you even talking about?”

“The cops, man, it was like, straight out of a daydream. The uniform, Hao. I think they rub pheromones on those things.”

He’s answered by unwavering silence, and Mingyu can see with the eyes of his soul how Minghao must be staring at the distance, suffering. It makes him feel warm and gooey inside, just a bit. “I’m hanging up now?”

“Thank god.”

“Be nice to the driver.”

“Be nice to whoever the fuck does the mistake of picking you up from the side of the road.”  


 

◯

 

 

After the call Mingyu rides with an elderly lady for thirty-four minutes, the longest minutes of his whole life. She is a foxy grandma, with too much makeup in the creases of her face, and she keeps talking about her boyfriend cheating on her with some younger woman. Mingyu does the mistake of asking how much younger and can’t get the image of a 81 year old man getting his freak on with a woman in the ripe virginal age of 67. Old people sex is a concept he doesn’t want to explore, so he tells the lady to please let him out of the car. They’re by a city now, finally.

He’s stranded under an overpass looking at cars going by, and exhaustion really starts to come down on him. He takes off his coat, ties it around his waist. The coolness of the air around him keeps him a bit more awake; his white t-shirt reflects light from passing headlights to his eyes, and it helps, too. He even rolls the sleeves up a bit for good measure. It’s a bit over the top, since his jeans are already thin enough to numb the skin of his legs.

He leans on a pillar and waits, dozes off while standing, until a car stops by him. Mingyu checks his watch, and the midnight is merciless when it stares back at him.

The car isn’t fancy, but good looking, not a poor choice, sleek and spacy and silver. Mingyu doesn’t know anything else about cars but how to drive one, he’s always been more about smaller gadgets and machines, though his uncle does still run a repair shop. That uncle would approve of the car.

The window is rolled down and an older man looks him up, down, purses his lips. He looks young in the face but old in its details, like it could always be solemn, his frown is very defined and looks like he has been practicing and perfecting it for years. His ears are round and big, though, suitable for a small child, silly even.

“Good evening,” Mingyu starts with a small nod of his head and bow of his neck. He smiles in earnest, taking in the appearance of the driver and wondering if he should approach more or not. But since he’s afraid the guy will just hit it and run away, Mingyu takes steady long steps and leans against the car, peeking in through the window, his face too close but far enough from the man who seems surprised but not alarmed, eyes wide and mouth caught open.

“Thank you for stopping, mister. It’s been so quiet for a while, I thought no one would want me,” he says with a shy snort, fingertips digging into the roof of the car. If the guy fucking dares to step on the gas Mingyu will leave nail marks without any remorse.

“No, uh. Problem. Get in? Or—” He gestures with his hands and seems like he’s a bit overwhelmed, lost even. But Mingyu takes no offense, instead smiling brightly and sliding in so he can get settled in the passenger seat. The car is neat on the inside, too—it smells neutral like it’s new and clean. As soon as his back hits the seat, Mingyu’s eyelids feel like weights are pulling on them, coaxing him to sleep.

The car doesn’t move. Mingyu watches as the driver’s knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel, how he stares off into the distance and swallows heavily.

“Um. Mister?”

“Shush.” The man takes his hands and suddenly stuffs his face into them with a noise that sounds like a groan and a sigh and a cry had an ugly baby. His voice is airy and a bit too youthful to fit him, but the dialect makes all the difference. It makes him sound really manly. “I’m trying to hear if my inner voice is trying to talk me out of this.”

“Oh.” Mingyu sucks his cheeks in and tries not to make a face. “I’m sorry.”

For a while, Mingyu just leans on the door he came out of, absolutely not buckling in, ready to leave if this guy suddenly shows any more signs of mental instability other than hearing inner voices.

“Okay.” He straightens his posture while running hand through his hair, breathes until his cheeks are full and then puffs the breath out with determination. He loosens his plain dark tie without a care of the smooth dress shirt he’s wearing, and the movement reminds Mingyu of a beginning to a distasteful porno. His overcoat rests in the backseat next to a dozen boxes, and Mingyu can see that more are thrown in the trunk. He could be arriving from a party, but something about the way he lives and breathes in the suit makes Mingyu believe this is his uniform and armour. “I had to be sure I want to do this.”

Mingyu smiles, a bit cautious. “It’s…. Understandable.”

“I mean, it’s not because of you, okay? You’re…” With an apologetic look he tries to find words, but then his face melts into something more bold. His eyes go down from Mingyu’s face, come up from Mingyu’s toes, quickly, as if he’s committing a crime. Something feels odd and heavy in his gut. He just… checked Mingyu out. “It’s not about you, I’m sure you’re great.”

He starts the car again and pulls up on the lane, and Mingyu relaxes enough to buckle himself in. “I’m Kim Mingyu, thank you for stopping.” He squeezes his hand with another, unsure if he should offer a handshake when the other is driving. His smile is answered with a tight line of a mouth, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Lee Jihoon.”

Mingyu stares. “The holy trinity comes to a close.”

“What?” Lee Jihoon gives him a confused frown, and Mingyu realizes he wouldn’t know about him being about the third Lee he has met tonight, no matter how funny it is. Shaking his head, he assures it’s nothing, crosses his ankles, leans forward, tries to make sure Lee Jihoon can see him at all times.  

“So… you’ve never picked up strangers from the side of the road before?” Not that the guy seems like the type to do irresponsible things. It’s the businessman look, or then his overall age which has to be past twenties, mid-thirties. But his haircut is nice; the colour is a bit too light for Mingyu to believe it’s natural. Dyed, cut. A fashionable man, Lee Jihoon. He likes it.

Jihoon then tries to smile, ending up looking like he’s being told to do so while held at gunpoint. Mingyu can’t tell if it’s the lighting, but he looks sweaty as much as nervous. “…No. Not even women. But it’s because of the”—he motions wildly between them with his right hand—“lack. Of interest. You know?”

A pause. “What?”

“It’s not like I haven’t had sex before though, don’t get me wrong,” Jihoon hurries to say. “But because of the circumstances, it’s been with the… wrong people.” Mingyu keeps staring at him with such pure nonplus, so he frowns, then scratches the back of his neck. “Is it really that rare?”

“…What?” Mingyu repeats. Jihoon’s frown dissolves into something blank. He takes his sweet time to be completely silent, until the disbelief makes his eyes form terrified thin lines.

“You…” He closes his mouth and wets it, swallows, quirks a brow. Jihoon’s face shifts from confusion to amusement to suspicion. “You are a prostitute, right?”

The look they share gives Jihoon his answer, or then it’s the weird, weak snort Mingyu forces out of his mouth in case Jihoon is kidding, but the man just keeps looking at him. His fake smile turns into a weak grimace. Oh my god. Jihoon hits the brakes so hard they both are yanked by forces of gravitation and the car whines under them, it sounds exactly like it does in cartoons.

“You’re not a prostitute?!” Jihoon sounds scandalized and his face is that of pure mortification and horror. Mingyu answers him with the same kind of expression.

“No?” Mingyu says weakly. “You think homosexual prostitutes are just,” he gushes out, “scattered around the outskirts of—” He glances out, frowns at a sign and spits as he says, “Busan?”

“I wouldn’t know, I told you, I haven’t done this before,” Jihoon manages through his teeth. “What’s with the blaming, just look at yourself!”

Offended, Mingyu crosses his arms to cover himself up as if to guard his person from Jihoon’s gaze, making a hurt expression. “Are you saying I look like a whore?” His voice climbs a dramatic pitch that Jihoon flinches at.

“Did I fucking say so? Don’t put words in my mouth, jesus,” Jihoon hisses and huffs and shakes his shoulders. “All I’m saying is that you looked… the type.” Mingyu swears he says it like he means my type, and it makes him feel better. “And you were in a shady place in a shady time. What else am I supposed to think?” Both his bite and bark are slowly dissolving from the way he speaks, and in the end Jihoon looks like he regrets cursing at him.

Mingyu’s fear of the guy being some sexual predator slowly melting away as he realizes that it isn’t the lightning—this adult man is actually turning redder than any human being Mingyu has seen since Minseo was a little baby and cried until she resembled an ugly, wrinkly tomato. It leaves him staring in awe. “You’re very positive, Mr. Lee.”

“Stop with the smart, kid. You don’t need to call me that,” Jihoon counters. He takes a few breaths to compose himself, then fixes the way he’s seated, looks more serious and professional. After a stretch of thinking, he carefully asks, “But you needed to go somewhere, right?” with a thinner voice. A car honks behind them, and awkwardly Jihoon keeps driving even without his answer. Mingyu lets him, checking his phone when it vibrates in his pocket, providing an escape.

[0:12] XMH: The Seokmin(driver,nim) is a life and change coach who picks up people to fix them. i think its just his job to drive and talk  
[0:12] XMH: not like he has  told me yet but  
[0:12] You:  how do you know if he hasnot told you?  
[0:13] XMH: dont argue me on this you dont KNOW  
[0:13] XMH: did you get a ride or are you still riding with the thirsty grandma?  
[0:13] You: a union guy from busan picked me up  
[0:13] XMH: nice. He nice?  
[0:13] You: delightful.  
[0:13] You: he thought i was for rent  
[0:14] XMH: what  
[0:14] You: a rentboy  
[0.14] XMH: like  
[0:14] XHM: like a hooker?  
[0:14] You: yes, minghao, like a prostitute.  
[0:14] You: im his type ♡  
[0:15] XMH: ...yeah  
[0:15] XMH: I can see it

Mingyu scoffs and nearly chucks his phone against the windshield. Bitch. He can’t stop a small smile  forming on his lips though, and Jihoon notices it, glances at him quietly a few times with stress streaming down his frown lines. It’s more than just a tad endearing, if he thinks Mingyu is laughing at him, if he’s worried about Mingyu judging him. Maybe it’s his nature to worry, all the time. A person who worries a lot, about everything.

“Where are you headed?” Mingyu asks politely and puts down his phone, ignoring Minghao’s new messages. He can live. Mr. Lee on the other hand is going to die of an ulcer soon if Mingyu doesn’t showcase how much of a good boy he is. Good company, well behaved.

They are nearing a toll gate, and Jihoon slows down while digging up his card. He has a charger in his car, too, and Mingyu points at it with a bite of his lip. May I? Jihoon nods and pouts his lips at the joyful noise Mingyu’s phone sounds when it connects. Not sure what to do with his hands, Mingyu settles them neatly on his lap.

“Suwon,” Jihoon answers while ticking his Hi-pass with a finger. The female voice that chirps at him to go 30 km/h or slower seems like an old enemy as he glares at the OBU. His stink-eye only intensifies when the voice remarks he’s on the wrong lane. They dive through the gate and the OBU-woman leaves them alone, a cheerful tone of dull bells announces that the toll just took the driver’s money. Jihoon huffs and as he speeds up, he rolls his sleeves. “That alright with you?”

“Suwon?” Mingyu sucks in his other cheek, then nods enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s…” It’s close to where I’m going, can you take me there? He can’t say that, or expect a complete stranger to pick up a kid from the side of the road to take them on a joy-ride throughout the whole extend of the Gyeongbu expressway. “…in the direction I’m heading. If you don’t mind having me tag along?”

Jihoon shrugs and nods. “Sure.” A long silence eats away at Mingyu’s brain and inner organs, jitters crawl around his skin, dig right in, because this is an awkward silence, but Jihoon seems completely fine with it. He even dares to put on the radio without any note or comment about the silence he is trying to fill. A chime of classical guitar music fills the vehicle. “What did you need a prostitute for, anyway?” It is not what Mingyu was supposed to say to break up the thick, suffocating quiet, but it happens.

Jihoon chokes a bit on his spit before he retorts, “What do people usually need a prostitute for?” with tons of false confidence. Mingyu shrugs slowly and juts out his bottom lip. “What? I’m not allowed?”

“Well… it’s illegal for starters,” Mingyu states. Jihoon lets out a hiss and curses under his breath, raising a hand, but just threatening to swat at Mingyu’s head. He reminds Mingyu of his professors, the ones that care the most. It’s the clothes, probably. “But it’s not that,” he whines. “I just thought you’d be popular with the guys, Mr. Lee. Enough so you wouldn’t have to buy attention.”

It’s not a lie, though it sounds like one, the words he chooses are buttery and too sweet to buy, but true. Lee Jihoon is quaint. He has a handsome face, good hair and a sharp mouth, a dialect. Mingyu is amazed he’s not married, no matter how much he is looking for rentboys next to freeways. Jihoon is taking none of it, though, his eyes shrinking into thin lines of judgement and suspicion.

“That’s… the thing.” Jihoon sucks on his lower lip and slouches against his seat so his shirt gains wrinkles and folds it doesn’t deserve. “I’ve never been with a man.” He chooses his words carefully, with a shiver in his tone and his nerves staining every syllable, hesitant to reveal themselves to some strange kid he just met. But once they leave his mouth, he seems to unwind in relief, like the amount of honesty is giving him the greatest thrill of his life. Mingyu can’t help but to become more and more curious. “So I was looking for someone who could help me…” He trails off.

“Experiment?” Mingyu offers, tongue peeking from between his lips, though that sounds odd. He thinks of a man Jihoon’s age doing dumb youthful shit like kissing all the wrong people and drinking alcohol he doesn’t like, and it makes his mouth taste sour.

“Learn,” Jihoon finally states, and it’s a lot sadder than Mingyu wanted this all to be. Suddenly it’s clear to him, enough to feel stupid about. Jihoon has been in the closet for so long Mingyu can still see the outline of it hanging above the man’s head. Probably longer than Mingyu has even existed and lived. He bunches up his shirt in a fist as Jihoon passes a white minivan, a black hole making it’s home in the lowest pit of his gut.

“You know I—” Mingyu starts, new confidence in his voice. Jihoon just nods as a manner of acknowledgement. “I can be.”

“What?” Jihoon’s brows knit together.

“A prostitute.” Jihoon almost swerves them out of the lane and then squeezes the steering wheel with a death grip while staring at Mingyu like the kid just threatened to kill his mother. “Or, more like a teacher.” Mingyu smiles, charming and soft and everything he thinks Jihoon probably likes. “Mr. Lee chose me after all.”

With a dry throat, Jihoon tries to swallow down whatever climbed up because of Mingyu’s boldness. He seems to be considering while staring at the road, and Mingyu notices that his ears are red only when he turns to look back at him.

“Have you done it before?”

Mingyu blinks. “Yes.”

Jihoon’s mouth curls downwards in query. “You’re so young, though, aren’t you?”

“Twenty-one,” Mingyu answers with booming pride, making Jihoon looks like he wants to die a bit. Mingyu smiles so his nose scrunches up a bit, shrugging. “Don’t be like that, Mr. Lee. You don’t know my background. You shouldn’t think the best of people so fast.” Mingyu leans over, his fingers meeting the fabric of Jihoon’s trousers, then pressing into the flesh of his thigh, sliding from the top to the inside where it’s even warmer. It’s ages away from the softness of Mingyu’s own thighs. He gives it a squeeze and watches with an open mouth as Jihoon’s eyes fly from the hand to the windshield to Mingyu’s face, his brain spiraling to technical malfunction.

“If you take me with you to Suwon, I’ll teach you.”

This close up Mingyu can see the light tips of Jihoon’s eyelashes, the creases on his eyelids. His pulse picks up, and it’s hard to pretend coming onto someone doesn’t do himself just as much damage as to the guy he’s trying to woo. Their faces are just another lean away, the pulse under the muscle of Jihoon’s thigh is strong and steady, the warmth between his legs distracting. Jihoon still seems unimpressed, though flustered. He wraps his own hand around Mingyu’s wrist and yanks it away.

“Only if it can be called off at any given time. And I can drop your ass on the road at any given time. Especially if you were to start groping me again while I’m driving.”

Blinking, he takes his time to accept that this guy actually agreed, until finally managing to say “Deal.”

“Deal,” Jihoon nods firmly and extends his other hand. Mingyu takes it with a wide smile. Jihoon’s handshake is strong and determined, one Mingyu’s father would approve of.

Jihoon isn’t persistent on communicating after that. It could be the time of night, or his personal issues, not that Mingyu really minds. Maybe he’s just better off this way, quiet and not giving Jihoon any reasons to regret picking him up. He looks out of his window with heavy eyelids, muses how every plant and rock and tree looks black. Sleep creeps up on him without letting him notice how his eyes slip until closed, how sounds don’t reach him anymore and everything fades away. He settles into a soft slumber, not able to see how Jihoon snorts at the sudden burst of snores he lets out in his sleep.

 

 

◯

 

 

[0:45] XMH: seokmin said i should forgive junhui and never look at him anymore  
[0:45] XMH: that its the best revenge bc he lives off of the attention people give him  
[0:45] XMH: it feeds his self-esteem if i obsess about the things he did to me and made me do. but he didnt say if i should forgive myself.  
[0:47] XMH: he just knows things, mingyu.  
[0:48] XMH: please answer me i’m scared  
[0:50] You: SORRY I fell asleep  
[0:50] XMH: must be nice………  
[0:50] You: The Seokmin must just see through you easily. Like… a natural enemy?  
[0:52] XMH: that is bullshit  
[0:52] XMH: whats up?  
[0:52] You: I’m still riding with Busan Man, he agreed to take me home  
  
—  
  
[1:01] XMH: you’re going home?  
[1:01] You: That was the plan?  
[1:01] XMH: … minnie  
[1:02] You: I cant?  
[1:02] You: if you dont want me to then you should explain  
[1:03] You: why are you running? What happened to you?  
[1:03] You: if youre in trouble we can fix it. i _promise_.  
  
—

[1:10] You: are you there?

 

 

◯

 

 

One should enjoy bad luck while they still get some is what an old, long haired man with striking surgical scars on his neck who worked with Mingyu’s mother at the short staffed Asian-fusion restaurant used to say to Minghao and Mingyu while they waited for food. He knew they got their fair share of bad luck, of bad things, but he also knew the two of them didn’t care, as long as they had each other and loose change—so they could buy treats for Mingyu’s dog and try to teach her tricks—and good food.

After fights they always came to get food (no matter how much Minghao’s mother hated it. She made sure to scold him for intruding and leeching off of Mingyu’s mom with the weirdest look on her face, too. Like she was uncomfortable just talking about her.) It was all comfort food, to soothe the sting of Mingyu’s nose that was oozing blood into the napkins shoved up his nostrils, and to numb the outline of a shoe-print stuck on Minghao’s arm. Nutritious food, to help them grow into their frames.

Especially Minghao. He was a kid that got punched a lot, creepily skinny and bony with a bad attitude but no motivation to raise terror to match—also ambiguous Chinese roots to go with it all. Mingyu mostly got into trouble for losing his temper too quickly, a short and pretty boy who blew a fuse as soon as one made fun of his lisp or his long eyelashes.

His mother would lay down a bowl in front of Mingyu and pet his hair, flicking away dust and dirt and dead leaves that had stuck, telling them both to eat it while it’s hot. And Mingyu would dig right in, the taste of metal fading from his tongue. He would ignore the lady behind the counter and how she threw a washcloth at his mother and said, “That’s coming out of your next paycheck,” because Minghao didn’t know what it meant, either. Mingyu’s mother would bow her head and pick the cloth up, diving back into the kitchen.

Lately he has thought about his mother more often, included her in every conversation. Every party since the start of university ended up with Mingyu drunk and telling stories of his mother. How she washed her hair every night, though by the next evening it would again smell like meat and grease and salt and ginger and look dirty from all the sweat caught in it. Black, shineless, and thick locks that she hid in her hood as she took the bus home, that Mingyu combed through for her every night after whining about it being troublesome before they went to sleep. His department mates offered to buy him food and drinks, saying they are sorry for his loss, and MInghao would laugh so hard soju came out of his nose and burned off everything in its wake while Mingyu looked sour and weakly told everyone his mom isn’t dead.

“My mom would never let me touch her hair,” Minghao confesses quietly while trying to choose an ice cream flavor from the coolers. He sways from one clean heel to another, making his new sneakers squeak against the market floor and the chain from his keys clanks against his belt. They left the restaurant, craving for ice cream, both tipsy and buzzing and warm. Mingyu kind of wants to hold Minghao’s hand right now, it would feel so right, but he wraps his right hand over his left instead, something forming into a knot behind the flesh and bone of his chest.

They are not small anymore. They grew right into their frames, mostly, with room left to improve of course. But Mingyu’s high school uniform will never fit him anymore. They are of age, have been for a year. With it Mingyu found out how he doesn’t have to date scared boys who push him away anymore, like the ones who only meet and shyly kiss you in the shadow of a stairway. When you’re an adult, you get to meet men. Guys in fitting clothes who are sure of themselves and treat you well.

For Minghao, adulthood came as trouble remembering the right words in Mandarin whenever he visits his grandparents. With pressure and stress came the desire to seek out kind-minded people that Mingyu could just watch and accept without joy.

So arrived Wen Junhui. A sunbae, a surprise, the reason Mingyu ends up in a car with Lee Jihoon and why he remembers all this with a bitter taste of dirt coated over his tongue.

Then came the tense silences Minghao shared with his father and the walls of their house, because of Junhui’s absentminded touches, apparently accidental ill-placed words, and inconsiderate affection, and Minghao’s father’s keen eyes.

Adulthood showed itself as feuds he acts out in the privacy of the shower by himself, hoping to solve out the ugly, deranged, contorted emotions in an imaginary realm where he and his father actually talk.

Mingyu chooses chocolate, picking off ice from the label with nimble fingers. Minghao chooses watermelon, as if he wasn’t going to do so from the start. A pause. Mingyu doesn’t want to ask. “How’s Junhui?”

Minghao doesn’t answer him, just walks away to pay, and it’s more than he could’ve conveyed out loud. Mingyu plants a steady hand to the small of Minghao’s back on their way home, fingers getting lost to the fabric of his shirt, the knots and ribbons that chafed against his sternum are all coming undone, one by one.

“He’s just scared, just like everyone,” Minghao sobs out after he swallows a mouthful of ice cream. His cheeks are wet and he’s so good at crying silently, so good and so talented. Mingyu wants to wipe the tear-trails away, but he lets Minghao keep them. They are his to keep. “Everyone is scared, all the time, fearful and careful and unyielding.” His eyelashes form thick groups that keep to themselves when tears wet them. He looks up at Mingyu with honesty and drunken adoration. “You’re the only one that is brave.”

Once all the ties and strands are gone, Mingyu just feels hollow.

 

 

◯

 

 

The next night Mingyu wakes up to the sound of Minseo accidentally slamming the front door shut while sneaking back in at night. His parents start moving around in their room, alarmed by his little sister’s ambitious baby heels clacking against the floors and her deep voice spitting curses she probably just learned yesterday from her friends. Mingyu can see her hair getting tangled with the small strap of her bag, can imagine her fighting to move her skimpy skirt lower. Lazily, he checks his phone only to see eight missed calls from Minghao, the last from only two minutes ago.

He passes Minseo in the hallway on his way out, pulling on a coat and stepping into his shoes with hurry. With a huff he grabs her face, fingertips digging into her soft cheeks, and wipes away her lipstick with a thumb, making her grumble and argue. He gets called dumb and he’s told he’s meddling. But the deep red does better on the pads of Mingyu’s fingers. It’s safe there. Their parents won’t look at its hue with scorn and disappointment, and it’ll look just as vibrant there.

Mingyu jogs out of the door, out of the gate, through their neighbourhood. He doesn’t greet or apologize when calling Minghao back, just pants out a hurried “Where are you?” once Minghao picks up. There’s a sigh of escaping relief, and a shaky intake of breath on the other side of the line.

“…Near your house. In a sandbox.”  He sounds so tired, the weight of his voice delivers a feeling of exhaustion to all of Mingyu’s muscles, but he keeps on going. He runs to the closest playground, but it’s not it, there’s no one. Mingyu keeps the line open, the phone in his hand, because he knows something is wrong.

They don’t say anything while Mingyu is moving. Minghao’s breathing can be heard through the line and that’s enough for now. Mingyu hangs up as soon as he sees the playground of the next neighbourhood and leaps the gate with clumsy steps gaining momentum and does a steady jump—he soars through the air and bets he looked cool while doing it as he lands on the ground. He stumbles and lands on his ass.

Minghao is lying in the sandbox looking like a dead starfish, limbs here and there and his hair sinking into the sand. He quietly looks up at the stars and breathes out puffs of white into the air. He has a huge bag next to him, and his hands are dirty, the clothes he was wearing earlier today too. The sleeves of his shirt, the front, his cheeks and hands, all of it looks like he’s been digging around in mud.

A car drives past the park and kindly shares light, but Mingyu wants to tell it to mind it’s own fucking business. The stains are the same shade as the lipstick on his thumb in the right light, and Mingyu feels like he didn’t need to see that. Like he didn’t want to.

Minghao finally tears his eyes away from the night sky and looks at Mingyu with the most careful gaze he can muster, eyes red and eyelids puffy. Mingyu ignores it.

“What do you need?”

Minghao asks for a ride, saying he can never come back. Mingyu tells him to wash away the blood first, then they will take his car.

 

 

◯

 

 

Mingyu wakes up in the middle of the night again while the car is stopped by a service area. Jihoon is sleeping in his seat, wallet under his left thigh. He’s so trusting he would probably even ask a policeman for ID. He checks his phone, still left in his hand. He fell asleep waiting for the message, but when he reads it there is no satisfaction, nothing feels any more right than it did before. Just more contorted, messy.

[1:20] XMH: I hurt my dad.

Mingyu swallows down a wetness forming at the peak of his throat, and closes his eyes tightly.

 

 

◯

 

 

The morning sun is too bright for Mingyu eyes after the longest night he has ever had, and his stomach growls so violently Jihoon wakes up with a slight jump, followed by a satisfied yawn. “Morning,” he says in a dry and deep voice while rubbing the corners of his eyes, but doesn’t get an answer.

Mingyu doesn’t want to move, instead considering if he could stay here and grow physically attached to the seat, to stop moving, breathing, and just sleep until he starts to grow moss and flowers out of his shoes and skin. Small animals could nest in his hair and insects could burrow holes into his teeth.

Jihoon smacks his shoulder, waking him up from the dream he slipped back into and offers to buy him food as a ruse to coax him out of the car. Mingyu collapses to sit in one of the tables by the parking lot, burying his face into the material of it and groaning any time a car drives by and makes him sober up.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says with a scruffy voice and squinting eyes, accepting the colourful paper cup of coffee and lunchbox Jihoon offers him and laying them on the table.

“Slept well?” Jihoon gets seated on the other side of the table and asks after a long stretch of his arm. He separates his disposable chopsticks, then takes a plastic fork and offers it to Mingyu. Mingyu frowns and reaches to snag the other pair of chopsticks instead.

“Yeah, I suppose. I’m not used to sleeping in a car, so it was fun. Kind of exciting. Like camping.” He mashes all of his food together before gathering a mouthful and shoving it in, chewing like a starving animal. Jihoon doesn’t make a face at the way he consumes his meal, it’s more like he’s just surprised to see it happen right before his eyes.

“So boyish,” Jihoon sighs with wonder, opening his triangular kimbap with care and devotion. The wrapper makes a crisp sound, and Mingyu smiles open mouthed, rice stuck to his canines. “Are you really this mannerless or are you just putting up a show?” Jihoon tries to hide his smile by filling his cheeks with food, but Mingyu sees it and he can’t stop his own cheeks from pulling upwards. He sips from his coffee, fingertips feeling as the drink makes the small flower patterns on the cup warm up.

“I need to eat it deliciously, since a kind adult is buying.” Mingyu takes his time to chew again, closing his eyes and making a face worth an Oscar, trying to demonstrate how delicious this beautifully lukewarm microwaveable lunch box is. “My mother thinks it’s important to let the people cooking or buying the meal to know it’s the best one you’ve ever had.”

Jihoon doesn’t hide his smile this time, leaning against his elbows as the corner of his mouth quirks softly upward. “If this is the best meal you’ve ever had, I will have to talk to that mother of yours,” he says while raising his brows and pointing at the box with his chopsticks.

In daylight Mingyu sees details of Jihoon he couldn’t during the night. Like the charming wideness of his mouth, or at least its wideness compared to how petite the rest of his face is. His skin is fairly even, no traces of childhood acne, but there are pale dashes and faded beauty marks. When he talks his teeth show, he looks around him while looking for words, he talks with his hands. On his left ring finger is a pale line that makes Mingyu’s stomach churn and his appetite grows weaker.

Jihoon notices him staring at it with a fallen face, and bunches his hand into a fist. “You were married?” Mingyu asks weakly. Jihoon doesn’t say anything, just keeps on eating. His face forms an upset frown, and it reduces Mingyu into a mess. “You are married?!”

“Was. Engaged,” Jihoon hisses, looking around them, “stop yelling.” Mingyu looks at the slight remains of his breakfast, wondering if he should eat them or not, if he will have an upset stomach later thinking about his deal to fuck someone’s fiancé.

“Not that it matters anymore,” Jihoon sighs and sweeps his hair back. He looks back at the car, takes a sharp intake of breath. “You saw the boxes, right?” His eyes are warm and make Mingyu crave for something sweet when their gazes meet. He nods. “That’s all I own that could be fit into the car.”

“You…” Mingyu’s eyebrows meet in the middle of his confused frown. “You ran away from home?”

A shrug. Jihoon clicks his tongue. “I guess that’s what it could be called.”

In disbelief, Mingyu’s spine hits the back of his bench. “Can old men like you even run away from home?” Jihoon bunches up a napkin and a wrapper and throws it at him, making Mingyu whine and duck.

Jihoon finishes his coffee and blinks a lot once he’s done. “That wasn’t my home.” The feeble voice matches his beaten face, a trimmed fingernail circles the lid on the cup in slow, long rounds. “It was a house owned by her family, a marriage set by my family. She wasn’t even my best friend. Not to mention…”

“A boy.” Jihoon looks up, at Mingyu’s wide eyes, his alert face, at all the uninhibited interest. He bunches up the cup in his hand, throws it to the trash can. He takes his empty box and gathers all the trashes in it, and Mingyu wolfs down the rest of the meal and grabs his too. Once they both stand by the trash can, Mingyu looks down and Jihoon looks up and it’s a very weird moment when they both realize how far away they are from each other.

“Holy shit.”

Jihoon’s eyes fly from Mingyu’s face that seems to be meters away from his own, then to where his forehead reaches just until Mingyu’s collarbones. Mingyu can only stare, not daring to say anything. “The fuck have they been feeding you?” Jihoon demands and steps away from him. Mingyu grins and shrugs, pride and glee fluffing up their feathers inside his chest and making him stand up straight, even taller.

“Must be something in the water.” Mingyu bites back a laugh at Jihoon’s sour face and his rigid strut as he heads back inside to the building. Though Jihoon calls out to him to take a pissbreak before they gas up the car, Mingyu doesn’t follow him just yet.

Instead he looks back at the table and the conversation they had and left there. Mr. Lee Jihoon keeps being something odd and something grand, a life Mingyu didn’t know someone could lead. It drowns him with all-consuming curiosity.

When they’re both washing their hands in the row of sinks of the bathrooms, Mingyu follows how water splashes and spreads and drips down the bones of Jihoon’s wrist. His hands could only be described as worn, with the light scars and callouses in his fingertips, bases of his fingers. They tell a story, in a way, and Mingyu likes that. It leaves his mouth dry.

Mingyu’s eyes run at the same pace as the liquid, down and down until it gets absorbed by the rolled sleeve of his shirt. It forms a stain, so slight and unrecognizable. Jihoon is staring at him too, at the dark skin of his arms, of his neck, and then Mingyu steps closer without a warning.

His still wet hand cradles the back of Jihoon’s head and neck, making droplets get lost in the short hairs sprouting from Jihoon’s nape. He’s so close, they share a breath, but then Mingyu leans back suddenly as he recalls who he is with, what he can do and how fast. Jihoon’s eyes are wild but his body is still. Mingyu swallows down his failing heart, trapped in the tights of his throat.

“May I?”

Jihoon breathes in, then says, “Yes,” but it’s so quiet Mingyu has to read his lips for it. He secures his footing a bit and Jihoon’s hand grips the side of the sink tightly. When Mingyu kisses him, he doesn’t move his lips or open his mouth, so Mingyu does it for him. It’s not filthy or deep, it’s just warm, tastes of skin, and feels suffocatingly intimate.

One kiss, until there’s a wet noise of their lips pulling apart. Another, when Mingyu realizes he can’t quite remember what Jihoon’s lower lip felt like between his own. The neck under his hand feels hot, and it makes Mingyu hot to think what he’s doing to Jihoon, how much this is.

Jihoon follows intently as Mingyu licks away their mixed saliva from his own lips, bites them and smiles, as small and just as shy as he is feeling. It sets Jihoon off.

He sways on his heels, brings Mingyu down by the neck, Mingyu’s hair getting caught between his fingers. The demand makes Mingyu whine low in his throat, but the noise is swallowed by Jihoon’s mouth on his, now moving, now doing whatever it wants, and Mingyu couldn’t be more happy to let it.

In the end he takes a deep breath when Jihoon allows him to, one he needed more than ten seconds ago but didn’t have the audacity to plead for. His vision feels fuzzy and hard to control and Jihoon snorts at how he goes a bit cross-eyed. When he removes his hand, Mingyu chases the touch.

Jihoon’s clear satisfaction and almost giddy demeanor helps him look radiant when he steps out of the bathroom and sunlight hits the fabric of his clothes. Mingyu grins, complacence running through his veins, and he follows in clumsy, long strides.

 

 

◯

 

 

“If you want to sleep some more, you can try to make space in the backseat,” Jihoon quips as he’s beginning to refuel. Mingyu is in a squat, leaning against the car and finishing a sweet vitamin drink, the taste of tangerines bringing him back to life.  
  
He opens the door, scanning the identical untaped beige boxes that has occasional baby blue sharpie scribbled on them. “Which ones can I move?” None of them say much more than ‘clothes’, ‘work’, ‘kitchen’. The ‘in case of a balcony’ and ‘whatever’ boxes make him snicker. “Is anything fragile?”

“If I had fine china or valuables in the car I wouldn’t drive around with a boy like you.” Jihoon says with such thick nonchalance, then smiles lopsidedly. “Just move whatever.”

So Mingyu does. He shifts the boxes back against the other side, then moves some down to the floor so he can adjust the boxes in the trunk. Switching places he finds a guitar case, a smaller instrument case, and next to it a smaller box filled with CDs. He runs his hand on the worn leather of them both, fingertips teasing the latches, but he chooses to leave them alone.

Mingyu reaches in deeper where there are open boxes, and sees loose photographs on top of albums, many t-shirts that probably haven’t fit their owner in ten years, and photos where Jihoon is wearing the said t-shirts. He looks young, and small, and his hair is long and messy, getting tangled by his shoulders. There are pictures of him from the army that make Mingyu bite his lip to hold back a gasp. The uniform suits him so well it’s really unfair. The long hair is gone in them, too. In other pictures Jihoon is tiny and looks like a child formed out of dough, all cheeks and no bones. He’s in a classroom, holding a clarinet that’s almost bigger than himself.

There are DVDs, a lot of classics. There are song books, and even books so worn that Mingyu can’t tell what they teach, the covers are ripped and faded. In the first page of all of them is written Lee Jihoon, first in a neat and pretty handwriting that Mingyu thinks could be Jihoon’s mother’s. Then in the next books it’s written with the unsure, clumsy scribble of a small child. Mingyu doesn’t even want to know what kind of a smile he is making right now.

“You think they’re all going to fit?” Jihoon asks from outside. He peeks in, looks at the boxes and then at Mingyu. “You done yet?”

Mingyu shakes his head, neatly setting the box with the priceless photos and music books aside, then piling more things on it. “I love this. The boxes.” He gives Jihoon a toothy smile as he crawls into the backseat, too, and starts digging through a box called ‘shirts until other things’.

“Why?” He pulls out a shirt and smells it, then starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Mingyu holds the tip of his tongue in between his lips as more and more skin is revealed, until he starts to feel like a creep. He moves three boxes to the front seat, and suddenly the backseat is nearly empty.

“It’s like a Jihoon Museum.” Mingyu traces blue letters with his fingers, daring to look up only when Jihoon has his shirt on. He’s smiling, gentle and silly, while folding his shirt, smoothing out wrinkles and lines, then tucking it into the safety of the box.

“You insult me. I ain’t that old.” The light brown of his sweater looks really soft. MIngyu sits back against the opposite door, and Jihoon closes the one on his side. He seems surprised when for the longest time Mingyu doesn’t say a thing, even more so when he turns to find Mingyu’s eyes on himself.

Opening his lap, Mingyu sucks a lip into his mouth and worries the hem of his shirt between shaky fingers. “Do you need something?” Jihoon asks him, and Mingyu nods a little. His breath feels humid when he exhales.

“Can I come over there?”

Jihoon scans him through his eyelashes but doesn’t think on it too much, patting his lap with both hands, and Mingyu shifts and scoots and crawls over as smoothly as the ceiling curling against his back allows him to. Jihoon seems to think it’s a bit awkward when Mingyu throws a leg over his thighs and gets seated on them, but Mingyu doesn’t know if it’s because the proximity overwhelms him or because the size difference would demand the positioning to be otherwise. But Mingyu wants it like this, to be able to lean down to kiss him without any real effort, to be constantly in Jihoon’s reach, able to do whatever the elder wants him to.

“You’re showcasing,” Jihoon says between deep exchanges of tongue, his voice sounding deeper than before. His breath surrounds the skin on Mingyu’s neck, hands prod at the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re scared I’ll dump you and are trying to convince me not to.” Mingyu closes his eyes tightly and sucks on Jihoon’s lower lip, sinks his teeth into it slightly, making the man under him shiver and grip at his hips. “You’re trying to make me see what I’d throw away.”

“Shush” is all he can manage, but it comes out cheap and hasty. Like he says it just to have something to say. His hands are bracing his weight on either side of Jihoon’s head and digging into the soft leathery material of the seat with silent desperation. He lets Jihoon freely bring him down by the neck, cheek, hair, by the front of his shirt, swallowing down a whimper as Jihoon’s tongue teases the roof of his mouth.

It’s all like a test-drive, Jihoon’s tongue is everywhere but nowhere at once and he now and then pulls away to wipe his mouth on a sleeve, not really used to how much spit there’s involved with kissing. Mingyu on the other hand just waits for him, keeps looking at him with dazed eyes and a shiny mouth, his lips pulsing and tingling with blood flow.

“Wouldn’t I have to do more to get you hooked?”

Jihoon laughs at that, but it’s breathy and nervous and all over the place. Uncontrollable. It makes Mingyu feel jumpy too, so he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad., but he doesn’t give up on his teasing tone and brushes his hips steadily against Jihoon’s lap.

Jihoon goes rigid and bites his lip to withhold a sigh. Mingyu clambers off him and backs away on the seat on all-fours so he can comfortably pop open the button of Jihoon’s pants, bring them down to his bony ankles alongside his underwear, pull him around a bit so Jihoon is there in front of him, gaining colour and becoming harder. Jihoon lets him, mouth falling open but no words coming out of it, eyes open wide and hands forming fists on either side of him.  
  
“Okay so,” Mingyu starts with a soft smile, getting closer in the cramped space, planting a hand to the window Jihoon’s head is leaning against. “What I think is good is that before you do anything too explicit, you should make sure your partner is feeling good and relaxed.”

Swallowing and frowning in wild confusion, Jihoon asks him, “What are you doing?”

Mingyu jabs him on the head with his wrist, huffing. “Teaching. It’s what I’m here for, right? So.” He backs away and starts to bunch Jihoon’s shirt upwards with his hands, thumbs dipping into curves and dips on the way. Jihoon writhes, he’s ticklish, and Mingyu places his hands to hug Jihoon’s sides instead. “Before you suck someone off, you should first touch them. All around. I like it, at least. It’s weird if there’s no… mood, you know?”

Jihoon nods jerkily, his face uniform and serious. Like he’s filing this into the deepest burrows of his brain to remember later in case of there being a pop quiz. Mingyu tries his hardest not to groan and punch him for it.

He first plants openmouthed and sloppy kisses on Jihoon’s chest, loving the feeling of the hairs there brushing against his lips.They’re coarse, dark, present much more insistently than Mingyu’s. His lips let out a loud smooch after every single kiss that makes him smile.

Jihoon’s belly is soft to kiss as well, and his bellybutton sensitive to touch. Jihoon shivers when Mingyu dips his tongue in there, and does it again when Mingyu’s warm hands squeeze and massage his inner thighs. The pads dig into knots and bunches of hard muscle, and he tries to work them open in his palm.

From down where he is, Jihoon’s very handsome, even more than he was before, but in a different way. A different mindset of handsome from the strong and manly, cool handsome. His face is open and yearning, anticipating, and on the other side of the window behind him is a sky so blue, blue enough to overwhelm, like a background to a portrait. He ignores the slight double chin Jihoon makes while staring down in an awkward position, just deciding that it’s endearing while absentmindedly sucking on the skin of Jihoon’s legs.

“How does it feel?” He asks, and Jihoon shakes and looks for words.

“Intimate” is the one he finds.

Mingyu smiles at that, his cheek pressing against Jihoon’s cock, fat and pink at the tip. “Just like it should be.” He props himself on sturdy elbows and grabs Jihoon’s dick, making him squawk and thrust upwards. Cute.

“Okay, so, you should always relax your jaw so it doesn’t start cramping, because you can—are you listening, Mr. Lee?” After there’s no answer Mingyu frowns and tries to catch Jihoon’s eyes, but he keeps staring at the hand curled around his cock. Mingyu slaps Jihoon’s thigh to get his attention back on him. “Because. You can never know if you’re going to have to do it for twenty seconds or twenty minutes, so it should be comfortable for you.”

Jihoon nods clumsily, toes digging into the seat and the floor. His impatience is all over the place, and Mingyu respects him for being as still as he is instead of grabbing Mingyu by the hair and fucking his face, he really does.

“It should be wet, for it to be easier and to feel good.” Mingyu gathers spit on his tongue and starts a lick from the underside of the base all the way to the tip, and somewhere above him Jihoon hits his head against the window violently while letting out a choked sound. He closes his eyes and keeps it up with long licks and lazy tongue, until Jihoon’s precome starts flowing, small pearls of it get mixed with Mingyu’s saliva.

“Then make sure to cover your teeth with your lips. Not too much so it doesn’t tire them, you know?” Mingyu shows him and Jihoon laughs at the face he makes, breathily and obnoxiously. He’s slowly coming undone from all his twists and knots of caution and false bravado. “And remember to suck, at all times. Or it’ll just be sloppy and warm, it won’t feel good.”

“Why is it called a blowjob if you need to suck?” Jihoon breathes out with a cheeky lopsided grin adorning his face, cheeks and chest redder than Mingyu has yet seen them.

“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t invent the blowjob, but if you don’t suck it doesn’t feel all that good, okay?” Mingyu wraps his lips around the tip without a warning and inches down, mouth a relaxed warmth around the warm flesh. Jihoon keens, hand flying to and from Mingyu’s hair and back to claw at the seat. He comes back up with suction, making Jihoon look and sound like he’s going to cry, the high pitched whine stretching out for what seems like hours, until his lung capacity gives out and he’s left heaving.

When he bobs back up, a string of spunk and saliva gets stuck to his lips, stretches until it breaks. “Also you shouldn’t worry about how much you can fit, what matters is how good you are, not how big your mouth is.” His voice is a wreck already. It’s hoarse and husky and makes his consonants sound even harsher, his lisp even more apparent. Jihoon slides his fingers into his hair, fingernails grazing his scalp. Mingyu swallows down the feelings he gets from being petted, the yearning for Jihoon to tell him how good he is.

“That sounds a lot like something a guy who can’t fit it all into his mouth would say, “ Jihoon teases, but tosses and ruffles hair in his fingers, smoothing it away from Mingyu’s face. It’s not unkind.

“Not like you’re that big,” Mingyu still retorts with click of his tongue and watches as Jihoon laughs, stomach jumping and teeth showing. His eyes crinkle with the size of his smile. His hand is all smooth lines and corners when it cradles his warm cheek, thumb brushing the corner of Mingyu’s eye. He looks content and lazy, like a fat cat, and the adoration Mingyu wants to think he sees in the gaze directed to himself is light and amazingly contagious.

“What’s next?”  
  
Shyly Mingyu allows his eyes to stare at Jihoon’s cock instead of his eyes. It gives him a sense of comfort. “Just keep up a rhythm. If you want to make the other person come you shouldn’t suddenly stop midway or go faster or slower.”

Nodding with a purse of his lips, Jihoon pinches his cheek. “Will you show me?” Mingyu whines and a feeling of emptiness hollows the inside of his mouth at the yearning. His mouth suddenly feels useless when it’s not on Jihoon.  
  
“You’re so greedy, Mr. Lee,” he grumbles but presses kisses to the tip of Jihoon’s cock, swiping his tongue over the head to taste him. Mingyu sets it on the flat of his extended tongue, then closes his lips around it, and above him sounds a sigh that’s almost dramatically relieved, and the hand in Mingyu’s hair tightens slightly though it doesn’t push nor pull. Mingyu’s fingers work what’s left of the shaft, lips lowering about halfway until they kiss his knuckles. He sucks his cheeks in, listening to all and any noises of encouragement Jihoon gives him.

With his tongue Mingyu tries to see what feels good, what’s sensitive, what’s too much, but Jihoon’s already shaking, the muscles on his thighs spasming as they try to close and press against Mingyu’s shoulders. His hand flies away from Mingyu’s hair to grip something, whatever for support, letting Mingyu’s fringe fall in front of his face, tickle his nose as he tries to breathe through it.

“Mingyu,” he says, and compliantly, Mingyu looks up through dark eyelashes, through the strands of hair, making Jihoon choke out a heap of groans. He keeps up the merciless pace he has built up, trying to control Jihoon’s bucking with sure hands, showing no teasing and just giving him what he wants. He wants Jihoon to feel good, the determination is burning holes inside him, growing restless by the minute. He wants to see what Jihoon looks like when he comes.  
  
Jihoon’s breathing grows to a chore of deep inhales and drawn out moans with his exhales. Mingyu’s name appears in most of them, and his name sounds amazing in Jihoon’s airy voice. He thickens against the flat of Mingyu’s tongue, and his taste grows stronger, overpowering. There’s a hurried and gushed warning in the man’s voice as he tries to grab at Mingyu with a hand.

Jihoon comes in a violent buck of his hips, a full-body tremor and a wrecked beg of “Mingyu, please.” Mingyu lets his cock fall out of his mouth with a slick, filthy sound. It hits his chin and Jihoon’s come gets on his only shirt, on his hand and coats his fingers, but he doesn’t give a fuck, very busy staring in the purest form of awe as Jihoon gasps greedily for air with an open mouth, how his toes and fingers curl with his aftershocks, eyes watering and creating soft edges to his flushed expression.

“You,” Mingyu starts, but his voice is wet and harsh, and every sound his tongue makes against the roof of his mouth sounds too weird. Jihoon whines at it, eyes searching his whole face, going through his lips that feel numb and abused, his hair and eyes, everything about him that looks ruined, messy. In the post-orgasm bliss that makes Jihoon’s face slack and drowsy Mingyu sees a spark of lust that goes straight to his own dick that’s pressing against his fly.

“You… shouldn’t swallow,” Mingyu tries again. “Only if you know for sure he doesn’t have any diseases.”

Jihoon hums and nods absentmindedly, combing Mingyu’s hair back for him, cradling his head with a steady hand, fingers rubbing a spot behind Mingyu’s ear in circles. “Thank you.” He offers a lazy smile that makes Mingyu’s heart feel tight and out of room.

“You’re welcome,” Mingyu blurts out, lost and dazed and still really erect inside his underwear. Jihoon starts to pull his pants back up in the cramped space and Mingyu removes himself by sitting up so the man has more room to do so.

His briefs are an easier job to pull up, but then his elbow meets the door handle while he’s struggling with his pants, and in a single swift motion Jihoon unlocks and leans on an open door and his upper body falls out or the car with a yell of “The FUCK—” It really looks like he was suddenly split in half.

Mingyu quickly grabs his ankles so Jihoon doesn’t do a backward somersault out and snap his neck while at it, but regrets it when he sees that two parking slots away stands a scandalized mother with her small son. Mingyu and the mother share a look. The boy frowns with clear criticism at how Jihoon is cursing and has his pants down by his knees, but then the mom quickly covers his eyes and starts to usher him into the car, looking at Mingyu’s post-blowjob face and the semen stuck on his shirt and chin.

Mingyu can only stare blankly ahead at them, not really believing his life either, until he offers an empty smile and lets go of Jihoon’s legs, letting the man’s lower body slip out of the car to the concrete and making him scream more swear words that make the small boy gasp in awe.

He bows his head in apology at the mother before she busts into the car and waves weakly at the kid and looks on as they drive away. Jihoon gets up and fights his pants back up, hurrying to the driver’s seat. He starts the newly refueled car and curves out of the parking space with such ferocity Mingyu sways and falls and gets thrown around in the backseat like a ragdoll. Once they’re back on the road, Jihoon peeks back at him and grimaces with deep disgust. He throws a pocket pack of tissues at him, hitting Mingyu in the cheek with it. “I’m sorry. Really. Let’s just never talk of that again.”

He tears one out and after his face tries to wipe his shirt clean, too, but there’s a stain left that hits his nose with a sharp scent. Mingyu pouts and scrunches up his nose, grabbing the cloth by his back and pulling it over his head. “Do you have a shirt I can wear?” He eyes the ‘shirts until other things’ box with hopeful eyes.

Jihoon look at him through the rearview mirror and groans at the sight of his half naked form. “Yeah, sure, please put something on.”

Mingyu isn’t sure about size when he goes through the t-shirts, but picks the biggest and most baggy looking one that’s adorned with black stripes and an itchy looking tag. He pulls it on, and immediately lets out a peal of snotty laughter.

“Too small?” Jihoon asks, probably only now realizing the monstrous size difference between them. Mingyu shakes his head and grins, digging out his phone.

“Anything fits with the right attitude, sir.” He digs up the camera to take a selfie. Jihoon rolls his eyes and watches him fall on his back to rest on the backseat but doesn’t chew him out. It’s the semen-guilt. He can’t bark at a kid whose face he just coated with spunk. Tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration Mingyu also sneaks a picture of Jihoon driving with a satisfied smile.

(8) Missed calls from: Mom

Withholding a sigh, Mingyu deletes the notification, opening up messages instead.

[11:02] You sent a picture (2)  
[11:02] You: run run fashion baby  
[11:03] XMH: why are you wearing a crop top  
[11:03] XMH: is that Busan Man? Why did Busan Man give you a shirt too small. Is it one of his past victims  
[11:04] You: maybe. something like that  
[11:04] XMH: what  
[11:04] You: heh  
[11:04] XMH: fuck. Gross.  
[11:05] You: ^.~

The screen changes and Mingyu looks at the INCOMING CALL: Unknown for less than a second before sliding the call in and raising the phone to his ear. Fuck. He curses inside his head, suddenly doubting if taking any calls is a good idea after all and winces with eyes wide open, nervous hand bunching up the fabric of his shirt. Fuck, he fucked up. But he want’s to let people know he’s alive. He’s well.

“Hello?” he ends up saying with a weak voice, going through with it. There’s a huge ruckus in the background, like there’s at least a hundred people talking simultaneously in a small room.

“Mingyu?” It’s his mom’s voice, and it sparks sadness, guilt, several bad things that start brewing inside his gut violently. Jihoon is staring at him steadily through the rearview mirror.

“Mom?” He licks his lips, realizes that the taste of Jihoon still lingers and brings his legs together to feel how his erection dies instantly, fixes his posture. Fuck, fuck. “What’s this number? I’m fine, I’m doing okay, you don’t need to be worried—” He starts talking and can’t stop, his mouth mass-produces words and lets them burst out because he doesn’t want to hear what she has got to say. “I, I lost my car though, I’ll explain it when I’m home, sorry, I’m actually heading back right now—”

The phone gets busted around and Mingyu hears arguing and hurried footsteps, someone is yelling, it’s chaotic and scary. “Mingyu?” That’s not his mom anymore. Mingyu is frozen in fear he hasn’t experienced since childhood.

“…Aunty.” Minghao’s mother has the same accent and the same weight in her voice as always, but now something dangerous is thrown into the mix. Heavy, panicked emotions. Mingyu wants to throw up.

“Where are you? Where’s my son?”

Mingyu’s tongue is thick and dry like a beached whale inside his mouth, he can’t form words, he can’t think. He looks down into his lap, at his bare belly peeking out, the short shirt, and he feels so stupid.

“Answer me!” she screams so loud Mingyu winces and brings the phone further away from his ear, and Jihoon hears it too, turns to look with deep concern all over his features.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” His voice is small, not sorry enough, but he doesn’t know. “He hasn’t told me. We were separated.”

“Tell him to come back, you have to—”

“Please, don’t do this,” Mingyu’s mother pleads with the woman and the phone is passed around again, though it sounds like she took it by force.

Minghao’s mother is sobbing and wailing in the background, her voice breaking as she screams, “He might be too scared to come home! I need to speak to him,” and Mingyu has never heard her sound so desperate and broken.

“You’re coming home, right? Come home. This all can be sorted once you’re home, Mingyu.”

Mingyu doesn’t understand. It’s a mess and enough and he hangs up, turns the phone off, throws it to the front seat. Jihoon looks at it, then at him before staring down the road.

After about ten minutes Jihoon dares to speak. “Did you run away from home, too?” Mingyu doesn’t answer him, instead looks at his jizz-coated shirt and wants to pull it back on, with the stain and all. He does, throwing the striped piece of horror back into it’s box. At least he’s less of a clown. “I’m a twenty-eight year old runaway, I could not judge you either way.”

Mingyu looks up from his lap, frowning in confusion. “You’re twenty-eight?” Jihoon lifts his brows. “I thought you’re thirty-five at least.” Jihoon scoffs and clicks his tongue, not offended. Mingyu sees it though. Only seven years. But so many things separate them along those seven years.

“Do you need a minute?” Jihoon asks with a soft voice. Mingyu nods.

“Wake me up when we’re near the next big city, please?” Mingyu says weakly and the man leaves him alone, letting him settle on his side, legs folded awkwardly, and drift off to a light sleep.  


 

◯

 

 

“Hey.”

Jihoon pulls the car over to a parking lot once they reach the innards of the city the navigator promised. He looks over only to find Mingyu still sleeping in an awkward position that’ll probably feel in every joint of his legs for weeks to come, knees bent almost all the way to his chin and hands supporting his cheeks, the weight of his dumb bony brain making the palms dig into the carseat. He looks very childish and endearing, making Jihoon’s gut twist. He forms a disapproving frown, plating a hand on his stomach, but all he can think of are the kisses Mingyu left there, the feel of his lips and tongue, breathing and laughing, and it doesn’t calm him down at all.

“Kid, hey,” he tries weakly, but gets nothing. “Kim Mingyu, get up.” He throws another tissue package, but the boy groans and turns on his side. Jihoon inhales through his nostrils until his chest is full.

“Kim Dickbreath! It’s time get the fuck up, we’re here!” Jihoon shouts just like he learned to do in the military and Mingyu shoots up blinking, breath caught in his throat and making him sound like an asthmatic locomotor.

Mingyu fixes his posture and squints. “Yes, sir, what is it?”

Jihoon scoffs and leans over to shove him in the shoulder. “Sir, my ass. We’re in town, what do you want to do?”  

Mingyu let’s out a long uhhh before he seems to get his memories back. “Right, hold on please.” He manages himself out of the car and slips back into the front. “How much longer until Suwon?” The boy picks up his phone and looks at it with dread and uncertainty, then turns it on with a finger placed on the button, ready to turn it off if something were to happen.

Jihoon doesn’t know what it is that he fears so much or what his phone call was all about and he doesn’t need to know. It’s none of his business, but still something stings when he has told so much but Mingyu has told nothing. “If we keep on the road after this stop, we’re gonna be there by tonight.”

The kid gives him a curt nod and enters a browser to look something up, but when Jihoon tries to lean over MIngyu pushes him away with a forefinger stuck to his forehead while smiling. “We need to go here,” Mingyu finally asks and seems to have found what he was looking for, pointing at a map. Jihoon squints but makes out the address, nodding. While busting his navigator to life, it’s glad to inform they are very near. He pulls up on the road and starts driving.

“What’s there? Gonna buy yourself a new shirt? Please tell me you are.” Mingyu grins and shrugs on his jacket, his teeth sharp and bright and too much. Jihoon keeps getting whiplash from his changes and growth and how he’s heartbroken in a one moment only to be endearing in the next.

“I… could. But it’s shopping for when we get to Suwon.” Mingyu’s smile is sly and filled with unleashed giggles he yet tries to trap on his tongue, and Jihoon instantly knows something is up.

“What is this place?” He asks with his voice dripping with the suspicion and distrust that’s gathering up in bunches and heaps inside him. The building is old and worn with multiple floors, and the very subtle signs adorning the frontage are the only thing giving away the shops hidden inside.

Mingyu gets rid of his seat belt and almost clambers out of the vehicle before Jihoon can park the fucking thing, but after a strict look he settles down with a good natured smile. Jihoon doesn’t know if it’s the humidity or the way he slept, but the hairs of his baby sideburns are curling against his cheekbone and ear. Jihoon wishes he could smooth it out for him, though the thought is too nurturing and makes him gag. “The closest sex shop I could find.”

He’s still staring at the mole Mingyu has low on his cheek so he doesn’t get it first, but then he does— “No.” Mingyu wiggles his brows. “No.” He opens the car door. “Please?”

“It has to be done, sir. We need the props,” Mingyu says as he gets out and rounds over to the driver’s door.

Without any mercy the sadist of a brat ends up dragging him out by force because Jihoon is terrified. The words sex shop sound like they’re going to enter a dark cold basement where there is a lot of leather, people taking part in coitus on the floor, and a lot of scary-looking sex paraphernalia. The parking space isn’t long enough, Mingyu’s hand is like the world’s most gentle vice around his wrist, and  soon they step into the building and the air smells like pine trees.

Mingyu stops by an elevator and checks the tablet by it to see where the shop is. “Mr. Lee?” Mingyu asks and Jihoon answers with a grunt while looking around the hallway. It’s pretty clean, no suspicious stains on the walls or the carpet. “What kind of sex do you want to have?”

“You—DON’T,” Jihoon starts with a leap of his voice, crowding the kid’s space and stuffing his palms in front of Mingyu’s dumb fucking mouth, “just fucking say that here,” Jihoon pleads with his face boiling in panic. Mingyu forms a face so dry Jihoon wants to knee him but nods, agreeing.

“Mr. Lee.” Mingyu tries again. “What kind of blank do you want to have, when we get to Suwon?”

Jihoon purses up his lips and gives Mingyu an approving nod, making the kid roll his eyes. “I. Uhm. The… regular blank, I guess.” He gives a shrug and Mingyu pushes the button, calling their elevator.

“Do you mean blank blank?” He smirks, knowing he has won, and Jihoon nudges his foot with one of his own as a stop being so smart. “Did you know that most of us think anal blank is the endgame, but apparently almost a half of blank people say they don’t want to try anal blank?”

Jihoon wants to die. The shitty floor would make him a solid if it just crumbled and took him along, down to the depths of hell. “Then… what kind of blank do they have?” His voice is dry and throaty. Ugly and awful.

Mingyu’s finger teases the edges of the down button, his brain whirring in delicate thought. “Well. The blank I already showed you. Using hands, the mouth.” He licks his lips and looks down at him. Their eyes meet for only a second until the kid’s eyes wander down, down. “The thighs.” Fuck. Holy shit. “And different toys.”

He can’t answer, his mind wandering to all the wrong places. Even when the doors open and Mingyu pulls him into the elevator he keeps thinking about it. Having sex with Mingyu. How it’s pretty much the light in the end of this dark and messy tunnel. Mingyu’s chest presses against his upper back, chin pressing into Jihoon’s hair.

“I’ll do anything, really. Just nothing too weird.” Jihoon snorts through his nose.

“What’s weird for you?” Really, he can’t know.

“Panties or dresses. Or calling you weird names,” Mingyu’s tone is light, and his fingers shyly worry the fabric of Jihoon’s shirt. “Please, sir. Treat me with respect?”

Jihoon feels a hot weight inside him, agreeing with an absentminded nod. He sees in his mind Mingyu sprawled in front of him, open for him, all for him. Really naked.  “I want,” he starts, but has to clear his throat again first. “I want the… the anal sex. And whatever you think is good.” He sounds like he’s ordering in a restaurant and relying on the tastes of a pretentious high maintenance date.

Mingyu hums and seems pleased. His huge hands come over and plant themselves on his shoulders, turn Jihoon around. This could be called face-to-face, but really, Jihoon is again staring at Mingyu’s upper chest and the semen stain on his shirt that he left there hours ago. It’s starting to flake off.

“What way do you want it?” Mingyu’s mouth curls with the alternating imagery that is running through both of their eyes. He knows what Jihoon is thinking and it’s terrifying.  “Me blanking you?” Jihoon laughs quietly, all nerves and jumps of restless air. “You blanking me?” He leans in. “A little bit of both?”

The elevator doors open and Jihoon steps away, red in the face and sweaty down to his soul. “Maybe... Both. Maybe.” Mingyu nods enthusiastically and drags Jihoon, now resigned, to the sex shop.

It’s not at all as dramatic Jihoon thought it would be. There’s more lace than leather, signs saying ‘love, laugh, lick’ and barely any people to be seen. A young man wearing makeup is seated behind the counter and bows his head before chirping a relaxed welcome. Another employee, a man with jet black hair and absolutely no makeup is tucking plastic penises into a showcase. Jihoon thinks he’s going to faint, pulse going fast, but he recognizes the feeling as something other than shame or fear. It trickles and sparks in small stars in every nerve-ending.

Mingyu kindly denies needing any help, pulling Jihoon over by the sleeve. He looks around with much more curiosity Jihoon thought he’d display. He cracks a smile at every crazy item he sees, even looks a bit shy staring at certain ones.

“Oh my god, Mr. Lee, look at this one,” he says and points at a box. On its cover is an extended tongue, ornamented by an azure… gadget that Jihoon could only call an extension. “You attach it to your tongue and it vibrates,” Mingyu whispers right next to his ear.

Jihoon lifts his brows and turns his face to where Mingyu is hovering with amazement plastered in every nook and cranny of his face. “…You want one?” Mingyu’s face drops and he shakes his head furiously.

“I just, no. I just thought it’s interesting.”

“…Fine.”

“Fine.”

They go on, looking through more and more weird things with complicated English names Jihoon can’t decipher. Once they pass the plastic, silicone, and glass penises he looks at the floor and Mingyu giggles.

The kid stops on his tracks when he sees something stashed away at a higher shelf, going through them with strained focus on his face. “Pink or blue?” he asks, and Jihoon answers blue without much consideration. When Mingyu picks one out, it’s a blue plastic thing that looks a bit like a syringe and mildly freaks Jihoon out.

Next, Mingyu stops by the biggest assortment of condoms Jihoon has ever seen. It doesn’t say much since he has never even bought condoms. When he once had sex with the woman he was supposed to marry for the first and the last time, she took care of protection (it didn’t surprise him that she had condoms stashed; he knew about the men she was seeing, even after she agreed to the marriage). Jihoon has never even owned a single condom. But the assortment is huge. It takes up a whole shelf section.

“Which ones do you want to try, Mr…” Mingyu catches himself and looks at the clerk eyeing them. With uninhibited delight Mingyu allows Jihoon a long, dear gaze. He grins and looks predatory. “Jihoonie. Which should we try?”

Jihoon answers with the deadest face without any hint of joy. “Don’t ask me. If you tease me I might leave without you.”

“So…” Mingyu considers it thoroughly, then picks up pack by pack. “Top three. Tropical fruits flavor. Glow in the dark. Tuxedo.” Jihoon groans and shoves them away as Mingyu shows them off.

“You are a child,” he manages, only accepting the regular, normal-looking condoms that have no patterns of bowties, past presidents, or flavor or resplendent qualities.

“You’re so boring,” Mingyu sighs but gives in very easily anyway. He goes over the boring condoms with care while choosing a bottle of, and Jihoon knows this one, lubrication. Even they have flavors or are scented, and looking at the bananas and watermelons and strawberries makes him feel weak. Mingyu stops at the size, though, eyeing the package, then glancing down at Jihoon’s fly. He shrugs and picks another pack, a size smaller. Jihoon tries not to show how much it hurts his pride, keeping the tears in.

“When choosing the lube, look at the condom. If it’s latex, don’t use oil-based, but water- and silicone-based products instead. The oil might break it. Got it?”

Jihoon nods dumbly. Definitely not. “Yeah.”

Mingyu smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “You learn so fast.” He picks a lube while he thinks Jihoon isn’t watching. It’s the one with the fucking strawberries. He then wanders over to the last section before the cashier, picking out a bottle spray that looks a lot like ones a police officer handed out to girls in his class back in high school.

“What’s that one?” he dares to ask.

“Something I like,” Mingyu replies and walks over to the cashier. The clerk gives him sweet-talk about how handsome he is and Mingyu grows twice in size from the sheer density of his ego, pride glowing from him like he’s completely covered by one of his glow in the dark condoms. Jihoon rolls his eyes and pays for the things.

“Should I get a new shirt?” Mingyu asks, and Jihoon shrugs absentmindedly while counting his bills.

“Sure?”

“How about that one?” Mingyu’s grin is obnoxious and he’s pointing to a shirt on a wall behind the clerk that has two ghastly pictorial cartoon penises hugging each other, their small eyes closed and a red heart hovering above them. Jihoon slams the money to the counter with pure violence and Mingyu’s smile drops. The clerk takes the money while twisting his painted lips and eyeing them both with care. His other false lash is a bit loose, weird flaky eyeshadow caught in it. These kind of fucking clowns are why homosexuality is seen as a bad thing, Jihoon thinks while withholding a grimace. He peels another bill and smacks it to Mingyu’s chest.

“Get a new shirt from somewhere. I’ll wait in the car.” He storms out of the store with his ears burning enough to cause pain, not listening to Mingyu’s half-assed or almost quarter-assed thank you. The safety of his car is like returning to a mother’s embrace, and he has to take a few deep breaths to believe the past 24 hours he has had. And once he does, he takes a dozen more.

 

 

◯

 

 

Mingyu is pleased with his new shirt—a sleeveless black thing with red print. It makes him look cool and was kinda cheap, and the lady who sold it to him from the shop downstairs complimented him a lot. With a small, proud smile he slides into the passenger seat, waking up a napping Jihoon who blinks profusely.

“You done?” he asks and starts the car. Mingyu looks at the sleep still stuck on his eyelids and feels something sinking.

“I could drive,” Mingyu says, and Jihoon raises his brows but concentrates on maneuvering the vehicle between the cars. “I’ve got a license, I’m pretty good too. You could get some sleep, Mr. Lee.”

Jihoon snorts and with his smile, his eyes squeeze into thin crescents. “It’s not Jihoonie anymore?” He meets Mingyu’s serious face with a scoff that’s very fond. “It’s okay, kid, I can get all the rest in the world once we get to Suwon right?” He licks his lips. “…You don’t mind if we sleep the night first? Before the… uhm.”

Mingyu quickly shakes his head, hands balling into fists. “No, no, it. It actually sounds great. Like a lot better than sex at this point.” They both sigh from relief and sag into their seats, sweet image of a soft bed clear and beautiful in their minds. “Would you like to cuddle with me?” Mingyu suggests while ripping off the price tag tickling his back.

Neither agreeing nor saying no, Jihoon looks difficult and like Mingyu gave him the hardest moral dilemma to solve. “I’m not good at sleeping next to others. I can’t catch any sleep, and I don’t like the heat.”

It sounds exactly like something Minghao would say, and it makes him feel a bit odd, more than a tad gross. Jihoon and Minghao are nothing and everything alike, but when he goes into the details he comes out as cheap and unfair. Like he’s looking for those points in Jihoon and ignoring the rest. His gut churns and twists violently and his next breath feels hard to take.

“It’s okay, my best friend doesn’t like it either. He always insists on separate beds when we have sleepovers.”

Jihoon tips up his lip a bit. “When I was a kid, boys didn’t have sleepovers. And didn’t share beds.” Mingyu snickers at how old he makes himself sound.

“We used to!” Mingyu insists, and Jihoon rolls his eyes, saying he’s not surprised. “But it was mostly because we didn’t have a spare mattress at my house, so we got used to it. His house had them for days but”—Mingyu raises a V and smiles brightly—“I took what I wanted. And I wanted to sleep next to him.”

Minghao would always whine and moan about it, but after settling down, his cold feet would find Mingyu’s and steal warmth from them. He would press his head to Mingyu’s shoulder so the scent of his toothpaste and shampoo lingered right there where Mingyu could breathe it in, while wondering why every cavity of his body felt like it was filled to its brim with light and warmth, because young boys don’t know about love or its symptoms.

“Is he the one they asked about?” Jihoon asks, and it makes Mingyu’s daydream evaporate. “On the phone.”

“It could be better if you don’t know.” The guilt is sharp and eats away at Mingyu like a parasite. Jihoon seems hurt, too, in the way that he just looks at the road and doesn’t get mad but doesn’t reassure him either. “But… yeah. He’s missing right now, no one knows where he’s going. I kept in contact with him but he couldn’t tell me, either.”

Jihoon’s mouth is a thin line and the frown-lines on his forehead get deeper. “What’s he running away from?” He’s starting to sound a bit like the other two Lee’s, except he doesn’t own a badge and lacks the hot uniform.

“I don’t know. Just that he…” Mingyu’s voice grows weaker, thicker. With a quiet sigh Mingyu looks at his hands in a lack of things to look at. “…He did something bad. And thinks he can’t go home.”

Snorting, Jihoon shrugs. “I know the feeling.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Mingyu scanning the view of all the places they are passing and Jihoon doing whatever he does while driving. Thinks or worries. World politics, the stock market, what to eat for dinner. They both listen to a radio station and sway to the music, huff out a laugh at the jokes the host makes. Mingyu realizes Jihoon makes him better at being silent, the way he offers no distractions from the silence, the way he makes sure nothing demands words or noises. And suddenly they’ve been driving until more and more signs read out a smaller and smaller distance to Suwon, the sun is setting, and Mingyu can’t feel his ass anymore.

“Where are you taking me?” Mingyu asks, and he doesn’t recognize his voice anymore. Jihoon jumps a bit as if he didn’t remember Mingyu is there.

“I was thinking hotel. But… I do have a place ready. As ready as a new place where I’ve never been to can be. A friend brought a bed in.” He chews on his lip and teeths it till it’s tender, throwing the ball to Mingyu with a look through his eyelashes. Mingyu’s breath stops halfway up his throat, and he wonders how Jihoon’s moans would sound in a room without any furniture. The echo and how long would it travel. Would his neighbours hear them and how clearly?

“Your place,” Mingyu gushes out, then blinks and adds: “Please?”

Jihoon inhales sharply through his teeth and clicks his tongue, changing lanes and getting to the interchange. “Okay.”

 

 

◯

 

 

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

Jihoon piles up another box on his arms and laughs. It sounds like Satan ringing sleighbells he took from Santa Claus after brutally murdering him and eating alive all of his reindeer. Jihoon is the devil and he was plotting this all along.

“You’re tall and sturdy, I’m small and old. Hyung has back aches and got you all the way here; you should carry these all with a dumb huge smile. Am I wrong?” Mingyu pouts but Jihoon only stares him down harder until he forces a smile.

“Yes. Thank you, hyung.”

They got to the city, and after an hour of being completely lost, they found Jihoon’s building. It’s small, only fitting about four apartments, and Mingyu almost laughed when he saw the faded rosy colour of its walls and the flowers the tenants had planted on every windowsill. By the entrance stands a rickety trellis completely covered in nasturtium, orange and red and golden blooms glowing as if on fire in the setting sun.

Honestly it looks like a great place to spend your retirement days in.

He doesn’t mind carrying the boxes and moving Jihoon Museum to its new venue, though it feels odd that Jihoon trusts him with his keys as soon as the landlord hands them over, presses them into his sweaty palm and tells him to open the door and leave it open. Box by box, he gives Mingyu his possessions and his belongings, his sheets and pans and pots, photographs and papers, he bosses Mingyu around like he knows Mingyu won’t say no. Touch by touch, he gets surer when their hands touch; smile by smile, his cheeks round up higher, and Mingyu’s chest feels tight.

“You’re really going all out with coming out, Mr. Lee. You picked the prettiest house in town and now it looks like your prostitute is moving in with you,” Mingyu says into the cardboard covering his reddening face. Jihoon is somewhere behind them, guiding his steps.

Jihoon helps him inside and Mingyu puts down the boxes by the door. Jihoon smiles but it’s crooked. “Not like you’re my prostitute.”

Mingyu snorts. “I’m not?”

“I’m not paying you, am I? Prostitutes get paid.” Jihoon puts together a save in the messiest logic possible and after a pause it makes Mingyu laugh. The peals bounce off the bare walls and create new ones.

“That makes me sound even worse.”

Jihoon’s smile evens out, and his face is all soft edges and gentle thoughts. “Don’t make yourself seem so little to me.”

Mingyu wipes his sweaty hands to his jeans and knows better than to meet Jihoon’s face. “I don’t. But I couldn’t be a lot either, Mr. Lee.”

Jihoon shifts his feet and his hands settle on his hips. “Why?” He sounds stubborn.

Mingyu sets his jaw, straightens up his back. “We met yesterday.”

The man fixes his posture, too, his chin up and face serious but not irritated. He stands his ground and somehow feels like he’s actually a lot taller than Mingyu. “I can’t like you as a person and enjoy your company? There’s a time limit for that?”

“…No.” Mingyu admits and his hands slip into his pockets, his shoulders slouch. Jihoon huffs and nods. He wins. With a foot he nudges a box.

“Get this to the bedroom, I’ll get the last boxes.”

Mingyu grabs the box while he fights back a grin, lumbering to the small bedroom. The walls are really white, the window narrow and its curtains navy blue. Mingyu drops the box on the queen size bed that only has a huge mattress and a note saying, ‘Hoon-ah, buy me the beef you promised in university. Hyung remembers it! Take better care of your seniors,’ on top of it.

It’s the lightest box out of them all with the pillows and sheets, so Mingyu doesn’t bother to ask and starts making the bed, setting the note aside. Once he gets the sheet on, he flattens his palms against the mattress. Curiosity blooms in small buds in empty spaces of his skull and Mingyu looks behind him only to see Jihoon still missing. He sucks his lip in and leans against the mattress. It creaks a bit and makes him smile like an idiot.

“Mingyu.”

A towel lands on his head and makes him look like a ghost, and when Mingyu clumsily turns around, he can see only Jihoon’s outline through it, his broad shoulders and wide chest blocking out the warm lights shining from the living space. “I left soap in the bathroom.” The idea of a shower is nothing compared to the near-reality of a shower, and Mingyu lifts the towel away from his face just enough so he can scuttle into the bathroom without saying a word.

By the door, a thought yanks him back and he turns around abruptly. Jihoon raises his brows in question. “I’ll clean up,” Mingyu says and plants a hand on his ass with a loud whack. Jihoon stares at it. “You clean up, too.”

The man’s neck turns colour and he chokes out a weak “I don’t know how.”

“I’ll leave you instructions before you shower,” Mingyu reassures and pats his own ass again with a happy grin before disappearing into the comfort of hot water and hygiene products.

When finally under the water, he almost passes out in the shower. Warmth encloses him into a safe, relaxing cocoon, and Mingyu thinks he now remembers what the womb felt like. He also understands all the friends who have caused water damage by falling asleep on the floor after finals. Mingyu suddenly understands it all.

While rubbing shampoo into his hair and wiggling his toes, his mind runs and does leaps like a wild hare. School feels so distant now, home, too. He’s only a train ride away, has only been gone for a week of his summer vacation, but when he imagines stepping in through their front door, it’s dramatic. His mother has grey hair, his father has a cane, Minseo is a housewife, and he himself has so many stories to tell he could wear out an ear narrating them.

Lee Jihoon is the one who will have a new exciting life filled with new people, new places, all the new things, Mingyu catches himself thinking, he deserves. And it feels alright to have been a part of that.

Returning to the state of nothing Mingyu had before on the other hand just makes him feel empty and unsure in advance. He turns on the showerhead and rinses. Will Minghao come back home? A bubble pops near his eye, and Mingyu blinks furiously, nose scrunching up. Can Mingyu just… go back home?

He washes off his face, pits, and before stepping out adjusts the showerhead lower for Jihoon with careful measuring, not to set it too low and piss him off.

The sheets he falls on feel soft but don’t smell clean, more like Jihoon ripped them out of the laundry basket or perhaps from his bed before leaving his home. In just his jeans, Mingyu crawls further down the mattress, chest bare and face brushing against the textile. There’s a patch that smells like perfume, a good soft scent that makes him want to sniff it more, not at all like the plastic-like rosy smell of Minseo’s perfume that she accepted from an aunt and now has to wear.

It’s so faint and located by the side, like she has never actually slept in the sheets, in Jihoon’s bed. She, Jihoon’s wife. Fiance. Or just the woman who will have to suffer when Jihoon is happy. Don’t get him wrong, Jihoon is in the shower right now, cleaning his ass because Mingyu promised to fuck him, but it doesn’t mean Mingyu can’t feel bad for her. Everyone wants to get married, and she must have wanted it a lot, too, if she noticed Jihoon looking at the husbands of her friends and still stayed. Mingyu presses his nose against the spot on the bed, and mumbles a weary, “I’m sorry.”

He turns on his back and closes his eyes, warm and relaxed and losing time. Seconds and minutes flow through the spaces between his fingers. His thoughts slow down and become solid enough that he could pick them all out of his head one by one.

A drop of water falls to his cheek, it’s like someone is crying on him so Mingyu opens his eyes. But it’s Jihoon leaning over him with his damp hair pushed back, shadows of his face all melting together. He looks so old from here, smells good, has slight stubble on his jawline and a hand settled surely next to Mingyu’s head.

“Were you sleeping?” Mingyu shakes his head, mouth falling open in awe. “You’re not tired?” Jihoon smiles, hopeful. He is, he wants to sleep, his old bones are aching but Mingyu is selfish. He was promised sex, finds Jihoon very attractive right now and refuses to give up on a good deal.

“A bit,” Mingyu says but still squirms so he can sit up and lean his back against the wall. “Did you clean up?” he asks like he cares, setting his hands to his thighs and opening up his legs a bit. Jihoon is a grown man, much more than Mingyu is, and doesn’t need people to hold his hand.

The guy nods, serious and all very solemn, like he’s ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. “I did.” After an awkward pause, he mimicks what Mingyu did and pats his ass with a jerky arm and an embarrassed expression.

Mingyu thinks he might be a bit in love with this man but admitting it could be fatal to his ego as he is also the biggest mess Mingyu has ever met.

He drags Jihoon to his lap so the man’s back is against his chest, he can settle his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder, wrap his arms around him. Jihoon sighs, but his hands are shaking a bit, and Mingyu holds them, smooths his thumbs over every single knuckle. He thinks it could be easier for him like this. Mingyu can’t stare at him and take him all in and store it all away into his memory no matter how much he wants to, so Jihoon doesn’t have to feel conscious about being watched.

When Jihoon relaxes and settles his weight against Mingyu’s chest he takes it as a sign to let go of his hands and bring them up his arms and smooth down from there. The sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing disturb him, and Mingyu wants it off, so he tugs at the hem. Jihoon sounds his reluctance but Mingyu gets it off of him, the skin of Jihoon’s back pressing and brushing against Mingyu’s sternum. He swallows down a noise of surprise when Jihoon’s shoulder blade touches his nipple, and wonders if Jihoon can feel it perk up.

Jihoon’s arms are full and feel strong under the pads of his fingers. The man squirms when Mingyu snakes his hands to his sides, jumps and writhes when Mingyu feels up the skin there, goes up and down his ribcage and counts the bones. His hips are narrow but full and disappear into basketball shorts, and Mingyu peeks over Jihoon’s shoulder to marvel at the thick trail of hair slipping down there as well while running his fingers through it.

“Do you have a fucking thing for it?” Jihoon asks in a timid, husky gasp that was probably meant to have some bite in it as Mingyu keeps rolling his palm over his happy trail and the other rests again the hairs on Jihoon’s chest.

Mingyu wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I think it’s manly.” He flattens his hand against the wideness of Jihoon’s chest, slides it to palm at Jihoon’s breast, and it makes him gasp. “Is it sensitive?” Mingyu asks and first digs into the flesh roughly, rolls a nipple between his fingers lazily and then smooths over it while Jihoon’s breathing stammers and becomes heavy. Jihoon answers by curling into himself and finally, finally, finally letting out the kind of whine Mingyu was anticipating.

It feels like the greatest iniquity that Mingyu can’t see the man’s face right now, how it twists or falls slack or changes colour. He breathes in against the skin of Jihoon’s neck, nose burrowing into the hairs behind Jihoon’s ear. He’s met with the scent of shampoo and still damp strands of hair, undertone of a smell that Mingyu can connect to the sheets, to all of the boxes. He takes a grand breath of Jihoon’s scent as if he’s going down for a dive.

Mingyu keeps kneading his chest, nipples, then slides his hands down the slope of his abdomen that’s rising and falling laboriously with every breath. Once he leans down far enough to palm Jihoon through his shorts he can also peek around at Jihoon’s face, his eyelids fluttering shut for him, and he’s so pretty Mingyu whines until Jihoon turns his head to face him. Mingyu latches his mouth on Jihoon’s lips and feeds on every sound and word Jihoon’s mouth tries to release, his fingers finding the outline of Jihoon’s cock getting harder, getting the feel of it.

Jihoon is a demanding kisser, and Mingyu loves it. Without fear, he curls their tongues together, then prods at the back of his teeth and there’s a hand in Mingyu’s hair pulling him closer, making him twist awkwardly. His back aches, his neck, too, but the way Jihoon clings to him like he’s drowning and his stubble scratches and burns against Mingyu’s skin goes straight down to his dick.  In the end, he’s a breathless and desperate mess as Jihoon teases the sensitive roof of his mouth without mercy for what feels like hours, and he can’t feel his mouth when they part.

Mingyu curls against Jihoon’s torso, stubbornly tries to lower Jihoon’s pants; he wants it all off, he wants Jihoon to be naked and bare, for him to fuck Mingyu deep into the creaking mattress until he cries, and it takes great focus to remember he isn’t here for that, not really.

Jihoon lies down for him, eyes attentive and searching and not ever missing a thing. He looks so wise and calculating that it makes Mingyu a bit nervous, but he settles with a deep intake of breath and pulls down the man’s pants. Jihoon allows him to be slow, a bit lazy, eyes slipping closed reverently while Mingyu touches every inch of his thighs and sucks sharply at the soft skin behind Jihoon’s knee.

He’s not here to get fucked senseless as much as he’s here to make Jihoon feel good, better than he ever has.

Jihoon’s cock strains against his boxers and Mingyu presses the heel of his palm against the shaft, traces the outline with a thumb and a forefinger, lies on his stomach between Jihoon’s legs and lowers his mouth on him. The cotton gets drenched from spit in one spot and forms a stain because of precome at another. Mingyu can taste salt and feel the shape of the head, and distantly hear Jihoon ask him to take the underwear off.

As he does, Jihoon pets his hair like he’s good, the best. The man’s mouth is parted in an amalgamation of feelings that throws Mingyu off kilter, and to distract himself from that he puts his mouth around Jihoon’s bare cock and focuses on that. The hand in his hair clutches just enough for him to feel it, for it to guide him, to pull him off or force him down. Mingyu hollows his cheeks and looks up through the eyelashes and moisture gathering in his tearline, and as Jihoon tucks his hair away from his face and coos, Mingyu can’t help but to sob around a mouthful.

He allows Jihoon to buck up as much as he likes, controlling his gag reflex by using all 100% of his brain capacity, and when he comes, Mingyu lets it coat his tongue and the back of his throat, still taken aback by the taste and texture. Semen in his mouth is one of those things that is simply hard to get used to

Jihoon looks like all tension just melts away from him, from the root of his soul to the tip of his softening dick, but he doesn’t collapse and pass out like Mingyu first thought he might. He rubs his fingertips into Mingyu’s scalp and sucks his lower lip in, limbs buzzing with new anticipation.

“Jihoon.” Saying it feels foreign in Mingyu’s mouth and Jihoon’s eyes widen. They share a look and burst out laughing at the exact same second, Jihoon throwing his head back and Mingyu giggling against the sheets. “Fuck,” Mingyu gushes with a silly wide smile. “I’m going to prep you now.” Jihoon nods, smiling and looking just as much of an idiot.

Mingyu knows nothing will make this perfect and purely amazing for Jihoon, no matter how much confidence he has in himself, because the first time is the first time and asses were never meant for any of the activities Jihoon is about to partake in.

Completely naked and lying pliantly on his belly in front of him, Jihoon rests his head on his folded arms and waits. Mingyu lifts their sex shop bag from the floor and settles it next to Jihoon’s head, then kneads Jihoon’s ass in his hands and marvels at the sight. The man stiffens then goes slack, his hand bunches up a fistful of the sheets, and Mingyu backs up so he can comfortably lean down, spread Jihoon’s cheeks, and press his tongue against his ass.

“Oh—my god,” Jihoon almost shouts in surprise, but then his voice melts into a moan and a full-body shudder wrecks all of him in a swift wave. “Fuck. Fuck.” He chokes for breath and groans like he’s embarrassed and immensely turned on, so Mingyu goes on with lazy long licks, only stopping to plant wet, sloppy kisses on both cheeks. He gathers spit on his tongue to make it slicker, but it also makes his every move sound more filthy.

Mingyu teases Jihoon’s entrance, and when it starts to give, he mumbles an absentminded question of “Is it good?” and rubs encouraging circles into Jihoon’s skin before pushing the tip of his tongue in. JIhoon arches his back and Mingyu can feel his furious nods all the way down his body.

He eats Jihoon out with leisure and treats him with easy ownership, and stops only when Jihoon starts to jerk his hips, fuck the mattress. Mingyu gets up and reaches for the bag, planting a gentle kiss to the back of Jihoon’s sweaty neck. “This part will be weird, okay?” MIngyu says into the man’s ear and gets back to his position.

Jihoon lets out a scoff, craning his head to look back at him, beautiful and red in the face. “You just licked my asshole. If it gets weirder I’ll cry.” Mingyu smiles brightly and takes out the blue plastic tool that looks a lot like a syringe, then the small bottle of spray. “Seriously, kid, don’t think I won’t fucking sob.”

“Shh,” Mingyu says and pats his ass, then grabs the man by his hips so he raises them up. Jihoon positions his knees under himself, settling his ass up in the air. “This is a relaxant. I just simply apply it and it helps your muscles.” Mingyu spreads apart one of Jihoon’s cheeks, smiling fondly. “It won’t numb you though, so it shouldn’t be dangerous.”

He sprays it on Jihoon’s hole and rubs the substance into the skin while Jihoon bitches about how cold it is. The gel texture turns oily against his fingers, and he gives another pump without working it into the skin. While waiting for it to kick in, Jihoon turns on his back, extending his hands. Mingyu takes them and lets the man pull him over and pull him in, looping his arms around Mingyu’s neck and kissing his throat in a manner that is strangely affectionate.

“Take them off,” Jihoon commands into Mingyu’s ear, toes curling against the leg of Mingyu’s jeans. Mingyu nods dumbly and sits back on his heels, working open the buttons and the fly. His cock springs out, hard and lean and he sighs deeply from relief. Jihoon looks at it in disbelief. “Fucking christ—where’s your underwear?”

Mingyu shrugs, wiggling his jeans down to his knees and fighting them down until he’s nude. “I’ve worn the same underwear for, like, four days. I didn’t want to put them back on after a shower.” He crawls back into Jihoon’s space and the elder sucks on his lower lip, uses his teeth. “I pay close attention to my personal hygiene.”

Jihoon gives him a look. “If that was true, you’d travel with spare undies.”

Mingyu lets Jihoon think he’s a dumbass instead of telling him that the police confiscated his spare underwear, including his favourite pair that was in his bag, and sucks on the shell of the man’s ear.

“What’s the shot for?” Jihoon eyes the injector suspiciously when Mingyu picks it up again alongside their strawberry lube. Mingyu opens the package violently and just throws the abused wrapping on the floor, then rolling off the cap from the lube.

“It’s for getting the stuff inside, so it doesn’t hurt,” Mingyu dips the tip into the bottle and fills the tool. “The worst isn’t entering, it’s actually going in deeper, but if you’re slick all the way it sucks less.” Once it’s filled, he brings it out and shuts the bottle. Jihoon looks nervous, so Mingyu smiles with all of his good nature and brings the tip of the injector to Jihoon’s hole. “This part won’t hurt, okay?” Jihoon doesn’t look too convinced.

“Breathe in.” Jihoon does. “Breath out.” Mingyu pushes the injector in, and slowly slides it out while he empties it. Jihoon makes a face and shivers, lower body squirming and feet digging into the mattress.

“It’s cold. God, it feels so weird,” Jihoon manages between breathing through his teeth.

“Sorry.” Mingyu means it but doesn’t sound like it. The lube starts to leak out and it’s so hot Mingyu feels like he might die. He gathers the leakage on his fingers and pushes it back in. His index finger goes in until the second knuckle before Jihoon’s face shows discomfor;, the relaxant is doing its magic. Mingyu adds a bit of lube to his fingers and starts to work Jihoon open with two, the man breathing heavily as Mingyu opens him up, spreads him, stretches him out.

He fucks Jihoon with his fingers until his dick is red and leaking against his belly, and Mingyu presses his mouth into a tight line. “Do you think you’re ready?” Mingyu quirks his fingers and Jihoon sighs out.

“Yes.” It’s said with certainty Jihoon’s expression doesn’t wear. He is afraid, and Mingyu can’t blame him for that, so he leans over to kiss him, slowly, with too much spit and tongue and too much consideration.

“I’ll put on the boring normal condom now.” Jihoon kicks him in the hip but allows him his undivided attention, watches with keen eyes as Mingyu opens the wrapper and rolls the condom on and lubes it up.

When Mingyu pushes the tip of his cock in, the tightness of Jihoon pushes all air out of his lungs and nearly makes him bottom out. Jihoon’s eyes go wide, and he doesn’t let out a sound, just breathes in deeply through his nose, so Mingyu stops after the tip and waits. He doesn’t say anything about Jihoon’s grip on his arms and how it’s painful, the way his nails dig into the skin and will leave marks. Mingyu just looks at him, searches every inch of his face, then moves in a bit more.

It’s slow, so slow, and Mingyu asks about everything. “Is it okay? Can I do more? I’ll move now.” Once he’s in halfway, he pulls out, then pushes right back in, and Jihoon finally opens his mouth to gulp in air and whimper. Mingyu starts on a slow, tender pace while slowly pumping Jihoon’s cock, stretching every second to a minute.

He’s still so tight, clamping around him whenever Mingyu goes deeper or faster, but the nails shredding Mingyu’s arms to pieces move to cradle the back of Mingyu’s neck and his cheek, palms warm and sure, and Mingyu feels suddenly like he’s the one being treated well and with care, so he whines deep inside his chest and draws it out.

The pace stays painfully slow, so slow it aches in the depth of Mingyu’s gut because he can’t help feeling like it’s also really loving, bordering on treasuring. Jihoon’s gaze drills through his eyesight and anchors him, he has harnessed every molecule of Mingyu’s being and he’s everything Mingyu sees, feels, and it’s a bit terrifying as much as it’s a turn-on. It’s not sex as much as it’s Mingyu collapsing from the inside out, his being becoming jumbled as he realizes that for the first time he’s having sex and not imagining the person he’s fucking to be someone else. He couldn’t even if he tried.

It’s like Mingyu has his dick buried in the ass of the scariest, most powerful being on this planet that has forced him to stop his years of sleepwalking, and his hips stutter, making Jihoon moan and pull his hair.

The steadiest and sturdiest of moments shatters to pieces in half of a second, and Mingyu goes faster, Jihoon takes it all and hooks a leg over the back of Mingyu’s thigh. It’s not too rough but compared to everything that happened before it seems almost brutal, and Mingyu would feel awful if Jihoon wasn’t groaning in small leaps of his voice and stroking himself like he’s the closest he has ever been.

Mingyu feels like crying when he comes. He can’t just solely focus on the overpowering wave of his orgasm making his nerves spark and fingertips tingle, because he also watches Jihoon throughout it, sees how the man gasps for breath and cries out Mingyu’s name. They come at the same time, Jihoon tightening and curling his toes against the skin on Mingyu’s leg, and Mingyu whimpers, whines, moans, he can’t shut up as shudders travel all the way to the ends of his eyelashes. He falls on his side and shakes because it’s all he can do, and Jihoon holds him, panting.

They lay on the bed until Mingyu hears no cars or people outside, the night turns to midnight, and Jihoon breathes in as if he’s going to say something from where his face is pressed into Mingyu’s hair.

“You promised to cuddle with me,” Mingyu says and closes his eyes, presses his forehead against Jihoon’s chest. The pulse there is steady, keep slowing down, like Jihoon is falling asleep against his will, body turning against him.

Jihoon snorts, fingers disappearing into Mingyu’s hair. “I didn’t.” He still wraps an arm around Mingyu’s shoulders.

 

 

◯

 

 

Mingyu waits until Jihoon is asleep and has rolled away from the foreign body heat—like he has promised he would as the cuddling hater he is—before he gets dressed. Behind the front door is a pot he almost hits. He carries it inside and leaves it on the kitchen counter. Jihoon Museum provides him with a Sharpie and Jihoon’s transfer notice which he probably shouldn’t be scribbling on.

 

_a neighbour made you pumpkin porridge. eat it well._  
_thank you Mr. Lee, I had fun._

  * _kim mingyu_



 

Mingyu can only pray that Jihoon knows what he means. The sex wasn’t fun, it was stressful and too life-changing to be relaxing. But the whole trip was fun. Jihoon was fun. He pats Jihoon’s car parked by the road like it’s a loyal dog, shrugs his jacket on tighter and starts walking. His phone has enough power to last him home, his wallet has enough change to get him on a train. Mingyu’s mind feels clear and the air he breathes feels clean. When he types out a message he feels clarity and closure.

[03:00] You: Stop being like them. Stop waiting for someone brave, be brave yourself.  
Go home.

 

 

◯

 

 

Mingyu’s trip never becomes a rich bouquet of stories from the road. His parents never really forgive him for it, eyeing him with scorn and disapproval, and Mingyu knows what Minseo’s red lipstick must have felt like. Minghao’s family isn’t any better, though he rarely sees them anymore. After Minghao stops answering his messages he doesn’t know if he arrives home or not, what happened to him, or his father, or his mother who rarely comes out of their house.

He’s surrounded by the pressure of found fault, pure doubt, but Mingyu is different from a lipstick adorning the lips of a teenage girl. He’s not an inanimate object, and he has ran away before and knows how to do it again. He wants room to breathe. But when he wants to move out, it just leads to another feud, more and more pressure and doubt that makes it seem like he can never be forgiven.

“You think you can do whatever you want, is that it?” his father shouts over the table, and Mingyu’s hands squeeze into fists by his sides. He locks his jaw, grinds his teeth and swallows every word, every ugly thing that threatens to leap out of his mouth. He has learned silence, and got better at it. He’s no longer small, or headstrong, nor foolhardy, but he knows he’s brave. So he can take every word.

“First you run away, take away the Xu boy, lose the car, and come back like nothing happened. Now you expect us to support your school and a house?” Mingyu refuses to look away, he stands and listens with his face blank and eyes dry and steady. He must look a bit like a lizard but it only annoys his father further.

“No. Never, not with my money.”

“I understand.” Mingyu smiles as he says it, because he really does understand.

Mingyu is selfish and rude, rotten to the core, so he packs up his things in discreet and gets the apartment anyway. When the next semester starts, his tuition never makes it to his school. As another secret from his father Mingyu’s mother tucks it into his bag to get him started, and refers him to the restaurant of her old friend.

And she’s a tyrant. Brilliant, but awful. The fabric of Mingyu’s apron feels rough as he tries to smooth it out to keep away all and any potential hounding from his boss. He has worn it unclean and wrinkly before, and though no one will see into the kitchen of the restaurant and scorn him for it, that woman is unforgiving, no matter how skillful the worker.

Mingyu came to beg for the job thrice before she even allowed him into the kitchen to show what he can do, and before hiring him had him prepare every recipe from the menu. But he got the job, and no matter how unforgiving and tough it gets, it’s stable income with a job he likes doing. He keeps learning, every day.

It’s kind of like being in school, but with sweat and money at stake. It goes well for a replacement of university, though he never sees his friends nowadays and would not afford to go to outings even if he did. Every won goes to his small apartment and savings, and Mingyu has found that having no time or money to spare makes his life simple enough to be thrilling, enjoyable.

But for now Mingyu’s forehead gently meets the cold metal of his locker, whole body shaking with fatigue of the long day. He feels awful, ugly even. He smells like his mother used to, of ginger and meat, salt and grease, and his hair is sticking to his forehead from cooling sweat. So he takes a few breaths there, alone, slowly, until blood flows back into his muscles and his insides don’t feel like room-temperature jelly.  
  
“Good work today.” A pretty waitress walks in and gives Mingyu a kind smile, and Mingyu nods his head and mumbles it back. “Ah. Someone was looking for you.” She seems to remember it while combing her hair with her fingers as she unties it for the first time in hours. Mingyu shrugs on his coat with a frown, clearing his throat and pushing back hair from his face. He hides it into a snapback.

“Who?”

She shrugs, juts out her bottom lip. “ I said you’re working in the kitchen, and he didn’t insist on seeing you. I saw him leave a message on the notice board, though.” Mingyu nods slowly, thinking heavily but coming up empty. He likes to think he doesn't know anyone with such shaky motivation.

Thanking her and yelling his goodbyes to the rest of the staff, he takes his things and heads out through the front. Next to the front door is the board, filed with ads and ‘thank you’ post its. In the middle, in plain sight, is a note written with neat but tiny and compact handwriting.

Mingyu stares at it for a few minutes with unmoving dry eyes, hands growing sweaty, before he rips it down and stuffs it into his pocket. He scratches the back of his neck and looks around, stressed and a bit paranoid. But he sees no one, and outside the building are no familiar cars. So Mingyu squeezes the strap of his bag and leaves with hurried steps.

After a shower and a meal he feels alive again. Mingyu opens the window of his tiny french balcony and gets seated with his legs dangling out and a bottle of beer in his hand. The August night is warm and comforting, the railing smooth and cool under every touch, beer bitter on his tongue. He doesn’t enjoy the taste, never has, but it feeds into an image he likes putting up. Working man Kim Mingyu, taking time off of school to sort his shit out, self sufficient and happy.

Not a mess of any tier.

“I can’t believe you ditched me for alcohol.”

Mingyu’s heart leaps, does a backflip so violent and sudden that his fingers almost drop the bottle through the railing into the cold ground. Hurriedly he looks down the two stores it takes to reach the ground, and the quad in front of his building stands Lee Jihoon with his hands buried into the pockets of his overcoat like he has done it a dozen times, practiced the nonchalance and perfected it to impress. Mingyu sets down his beer and takes in a few breaths, and he doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if the oxygen he inhales truly has bubbles in it that burst against the walls of his respiratory system.

“…How did you find me here?”

Jihoon smiles, lopsided, rude. Mingyu wants to whine at the sight. He’s real and he’s there and he’s the same. But he’s also so much more. “Grown-ups have their ways.”

Mingyu frowns and tightens his grip on the railing. “Are you perhaps stalking me?”

Jihoon’s small smile grows into a fond grin before he replies. “What if I followed you? What if I’m a stalker?”

With a sour look, Mingyu scoffs and tucks an overgrown strand of hair behind his ear. “Then I’m glad I chose the alcohol over you. Alcohol doesn’t stalk.” The note Jihoon wrote him burns in his pocket, and Mingyu’s hands shake. He feels awful and ugly again.

“You chose wrong, Mingyu-ya. Booze isn’t good for you.” Jihoon takes a few steps back, so he’s in Mingyu’s better line of sight, so he can find Mingyu’s eyes and keep looking into them, steady. There was an act like this in a play Mingyu watched when he was in high school. A boy with no sense of shame stands before a balcony and speaks his feelings.

“It doesn’t call you, it doesn't even write.”

Mingyu laughs, every joint in him jumping with harsh breaths. Something bitter diffuses into the mix of sweet and mild. “You didn’t call or write either,” he retorts, but without any real bite.

Jihoon softens all over, like he doesn’t know if Mingyu is placing blame or not. His voice isn’t at all as sure when he says “Even if you had left any way to do so I…” He shoots a gaze at the sky, like the right words would fall on him. “I just don’t.”

With a snicker Mingyu leans his cheek on a hand. “That’s what you want me to deal with instead of intoxication? Lee Jihoon, the man who Just Doesn’t.”

Jihoon smiles, shrugs. “Compared to liquor I’m much more fun to wake up to.” Mingyu can’t argue with that. “I didn’t know you live alone.”

Taking a drink out of his beer, Mingyu raises his brows. He tries not to make a face at the taste. “I just moved out about a month or so ago.”

Jihoon feigns surprise, eyes growing to roundness and an impressed nod rocking his whole upper body. “Wow, what a coincidence. Me, too.” Mingyu laughs and shakes his head. He almost forgot how much he loves this guy. Almost.

So, of course, as the sentimentalist he is, Mingyu throws down the keys and watches fondly as Jihoon catch them with agility beyond his spiritual age of seventy. Mingyu doesn’t move from the window, sitting there with his back facing the apartment even when Jihoon unlocks the door of his home, closes it, and sets the keys on a chair.

“You know, the note was me actually asking you out.” Jihoon steps out of his shoes and pads around with what sounds like bare feet. A hand is placed on top of Mingyu’s head, and it smooths down all the way to the back of his neck. Jihoon pets his hair gingerly, with caution.

Mingyu turns to look at him, and Jihoon is serious but not solemn. He looks so sure, so certain of something Mingyu doesn’t know. “But I wanted to see if you show up before I pulled this card on you. The ‘I know where you live’ one.”

Feeling guilty, Mingyu digs out the suffered and crumpled paper from his pocket. “I saw it. I just didn’t know how to…” He swallows, looks down. How to not run to the meeting place with his hair still a greasy mess, his breathing erratic from sprinting the whole way.

“Mingyu-ya.” Jihoon pokes his forehead, and Mingyu looks up with a sad excuse for a scowl. “You’re someone I can’t stop thinking about.” He falls on his ass next to Mingyu and grabs his hands. They’re cool, not cold. Refreshing.  “Not as the kid I picked up from the side of the road, though. As a man.”

Mingyu hates this. He hates how Jihoon confesses like he’s sixteen years old and has read books about true love, about handsome men asking for the hand of a quirky and mettlesome maiden who they do not want to tame, just love. He hates how sincere it is and how he can’t stop thinking about Jihoon’s next words. His brain goes through every possible combination and Mingyu tries to have an eloquent reply to them all, to outsmart him.

“Mr. Lee. I’m no shrinking violet, you can just ask without the build up.”

Jihoon scoffs and traps Mingyu’s nose between his fingers and twists until Mingyu yelps. “Kids like you can’t be asked, they need to be told,” he sighs and pulls Mingyu in.

The kiss he plants on Mingyu’s lips is soft and quick and makes his insides flutter, like he, too, is sixteen and confessing something, hands gripping tightly to the edges of Jihoon’s coat. Like he’s not at all rude and selfish to his core, but like the mettlesome quirky maidens in the books who are all frail and awaiting for love deep inside instead.  
  
“Meet me at the place on the note tomorrow.” Jihoon says raspily against Mingyu’s chapped lips, and Mingyu thinks his shoulders might’ve become even broader, his form even stronger.

When Jihoon is almost by the door Mingyu says, “Okay.” Because it’s not a question or a request, he can’t answer with a yes or no. Jihoon steps into his shoes and smiles, small and uncertain.

“You sure?” Jihoon opens the door and throws one last look at Mingyu like he’s double-checking, gathering himself up. The building up wasn’t for Mingyu, it was for Jihoon himself. It’s something he needs.

“I… I could make you love me, you know.” Jihoon says it like he’s as embarrassed to say it out loud as Mingyu is to hear it. He makes it sound like its also the most awful thing, irreversible damage to another human being, so Mingyu laughs him out of the apartment because it’s all he can do. His eyes dwell up and he can only let the bubbles of laughter roll out peal after peal, it’s like he’s falling into hysterics before everything goes still, steady and right. Like taking a deep dive through windy air, into still waters.

Still giggling and wiping away tears, Mingyu follows how Jihoon hurries across the quad to his car, mortified. His shoulders are hunched and hands in his pockets and Mingyu wonders if his ears are red again. His stride is so jerky and shows all of his emotions. Mingyu feels like something is wedging itself into the spaces of his ribcage by force, melting into the bone, all the way to the marrow, because Jihoon looks like he’s the oldest man on Earth while doing so and Mingyu finds it so lovable.

“I bet you could.” Mingyu’s voice carries far when he yells and reaches Jihoon with ease, and it’s more sincere than Mingyu would like to admit, but the elder receives the words with a sour expression. Always so attentive of the neighbors, he mouths instead of shouts the words _‘fuck you’_ before slipping into his car and driving away.

He must be even more determined to do it now in his state of mortification and being as pissed as he is, truly motivated to commit the true damage of making Mingyu care. And that’s fine. Mingyu just wants him to think he has to even try.

 

◯


End file.
